


Butterfly of Destiny

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Series: Stonehenge: The Supernatural Bar in Beacon Hills [2]
Category: Staus, Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Seduction, Attraction, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Canon Related, Cock Tease, Cockblock Derek Hale, Cockblocking, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crush at First Sight, Drama, Drinking, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Fantasy, Fate, Fate & Destiny, Flirting, Good Peter Hale, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hybrids, Invitation to Stay, King Klaus, Klaus Mikaelson Has A Heart, Love, M/M, Marcel is in chapter 6, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Neckz 'n' Throats, New Orleans, Old Friends, Old Lovers, One True Pairing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painting, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prince Stiles, Prophecy, Prophetic Visions, Protective Elijah Mikaelson, Reunions, Romance, Running Away, Ruse, Same-Sex Marriage, Scent Kink, Secret love, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Some Tags for Future Chapters, Spit As Lube, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Walk Into A Bar, Wall Sex, Wedding Bells, Wonderland, Wooing, coming home, new life, one love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23873833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Stiles is stood up during a snow storm for a drink date with Derek Hale. He's about to call it a night when a mysterious stranger walks in to Stonehenge.A certain Klaus Mikaelson only has eyes for the young human- and their erotic distraction leads to an interesting invitation. Has someone from Beacon Hills stolen Klaus' heart?
Relationships: Davina Claire/Kol Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson & Peter Hale, Klaus Mikaelson & Stiles Stilinski, Klaus Mikaelson/Stiles Stilinski, Marcel Gerard & Scott McCall, Marcel Gerard/Scott McCall, Peter Hale/Elijah Mikaelson, Staus - Relationship
Series: Stonehenge: The Supernatural Bar in Beacon Hills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719493
Comments: 107
Kudos: 572





	1. Take Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Keeping the theme of Stonehenge from the first story in the series, (and the idea of a tattooed Stiles).  
> Chapter one is Klaus and Stiles meeting, chatting each other up.  
> All the NSFW from Klaus' indecent proposal takes place in chapter 2. I wasn’t expecting the beautiful interest you have shown 🤗 so now the story has progressed. I'm not sure how long it will end up being as new plot lines have developed. Enjoy and thanks for the amazing support. 🥰

The sky seemed impenetrable as he drove up- whiter than a sheet of paper. Stiles was thankful for the reprieve from the abyss of brightness as he stepped through Stonehenge’s doors a moment later.  
He checked his watch with a quick glance, dusting the snowflakes off his winter jacket with three swipes.  
“Hey Mike.”  
Great. His favorite bartender was working tonight!  
“Hey Stiles, the usual?” Mike greeted back, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder.  
  
With a wag to his dark head, Stiles crossed the floor, flanking the pool tables. He took his usual seat at the bar, sinking into the arched back.  
This was his favorite watering hole- the infamous “underground” bar in Beacon that somehow everyone knew about. Folk still whispered sometimes about its “secrecy” but the nature of the business had gotten out a LONG time ago.  
Stonehenge was THE bar in the county catering to all supernatural creatures and their human allies. It was Switzerland- all breeds and kinds/orientations were welcome, as long as the patrons behaved. If a werewolf wanted to have a drink, he’d have to tolerate doing so next to a vamp. If the psychopomp had an issue with a banshee over some guy they’d slept with- that shit got taken care of outside.  
The rules were few, clearly written on the entrance, and enforced _to the letter_ by two giant hybrids who had no tolerance for bullshit.  
One infraction, just one, would get you a permanent ban. Nobody wanted that, especially in a town like Beacon where the public library hosting a children’s book reading was the most talked about event.  
  
So Stiles hung his jacket on the back of the chair and ordered his usual: Vodka lemon.  
“You alone tonight, Stiles?” Mike asked, his dimpled cheeks stretching into a smile.  
Mike might have had a little crush on Stiles. It was nothing he’d ever said… just minor things he’d do that he hoped would give it away. He had a heavier hand when pouring for him… holding his gaze a little longer than he did with his other patrons. So far, Stiles hadn't noticed. But maybe one day?  
No one could blame him. Stiles was gorgeous, funny, and intelligent. The full package.  
  
Being the only one sitting at the counter, Stiles figured the evening's status was a valid question. And where _was_ the guy he was waiting on?!  
“Derek’s supposed to be coming, but I think he’s gonna bail on me. He hates driving in the snow.”  
  
Stiles stared down into his drink, his tone dropping to something sober.  
In an unusual meteorological turn of events, it was snowing in Beacon Hills. Probably why the bar was so empty. Mike surveyed the room and sighed. He’d be hurting for tips today.  
Hooking two shot glasses into his fingers, he set them down one in front of the other.  
“Shot?” He lifted the Jameson in invitation. “To get you warmed up?”  
  
Did Stiles notice those long lashes fluttering? Mike could come up with a couple other things to warm them both up…   
It wasn’t Stiles’ first drink (he'd dropped in to his Dad's on the way over and the man insisted on toasting Stiles' new job). The way his night was going, it wouldn’t be Stiles' last.  
“Let’s do it,” he breathed, waving his troubles away.  
  
After half an hour in the almost tomblike venue with no one to look at but Mike, Stiles was regretting his decision to venture out. Instead of an evening of flirting with Derek (and what he had hoped FINALLY might have ended up in some Alpha sexing), he was still the only person sitting at the bar and it was painfully obvious Derek would not grace him with his wolfie presence tonight.   
Dick.  
  
A handful of shapeshifters drank themselves to a stupor in a corner across the room. If he had to bet, Stiles would have said they were only there to get out of the flurries falling outside.  
“You want anything else, Stiles?” the bartender asked while he wiped down the counter.  
He was opening his lips to propose a date- to ask Stiles to stick around another hour until his shift ended and then maybe they’d get a bite together?  
That’s when the chilly air of a door opening made the temp drop and boots stomping the wooden floor disrupted the quiet.  
Stiles seized upon the presence of someone new and his umber eyes widened slightly at the sight.  
 _Who the hell was this?!_  
  
The newcomer would have been hard to miss even if Stiles hadn’t been desperate for some eye candy; with short tawny hair, close cropped stubble and chiselled features, he was exactly what he’d be looking for if he hadn’t been waiting on Derek.  
But then again… Derek was at home. Stiles had gotten stood up and they'd really only been on two dates. What was the harm in having a chat?  
  
The man shook the snow from his form fitting leather jacket and gave the bar a brief glance over as he rubbed his hands together. His vale eyes met Stiles’ within seconds and a nod was in order.  
Stiles smirked back at him before babysitting his drink again, heart lurching to his throat.

The mysterious man seemed to float over and he peered at Stiles again from the corner of his eye. He ordered a whiskey because it didn’t look like a place to order champagne.  
  
Drinking in his alluring aura, Stiles felt his pulse quickening, the butterflies already tangling in his stomach’s net. He willed himself to relax. Picking up his glass, he lazily threw back the last of his second Jameson shot, sighing as it burned its way down his throat.  
Stiles had been on the verge of calling it a night but with the hunk standing at the end of the bar, (and what an ass on him!) he was suddenly in no rush to leave.  
Gesturing to Mike for a refill, he reached for his wallet, but his knight in shining armour spoke up.

“I’ll get that,” his voice was a husky rasp and when he picked up on it, Stiles almost felt his heart stop; was that a British accent he’d just heard? Before he tied two phrases together, the man sauntered the length of the place and stopped at Stiles’ feet.  
He leaned on one elbow and angled his body so Stiles could get an excellent look at it.

“Can’t let a handsome gent go around paying for his own drinks now, can I?” he smirked, and that’s when Stiles deliberately tried to make his mind go blank. “What sort of man would I be then?”  
“Thank you,” Stiles stuttered, regaining awareness of how beautiful this man was. Holy God, that full mouth, that cupid bow top lip…  
  
“No problem, love,” the man breathed, pouring his body into the seat right next to Stiles.  
“May I join you? I’m unaccompanied this evening.”  
At hearing the man say “ _love_ ,” Stiles just about died. It’s a good thing he was seated because his spine melted away and he sank into a puddle of hormones.  
“Please,” Stiles fumbled with his car keys and his nervous fingers sent them flying past the wood.  
“Shit!”  
  
The brief bout of clumsiness was adorable, and the man smiled, tilting his head to explore Stiles better. The harder he focused, the more the flush of his pale cheek deepened- it was like sunset on snow.  
The bartender, knowing Stiles for a while now, shook his head and chuckled. Fishing the keys from behind a glass, he handed them back with a quip “Looking for these?”  
Yeah, Mike had a good idea how this would go. After all, the bathrooms and storage room in Stonehenge were used for hook-ups. Everyone knew it, and the venue tolerated it. Almost encouraged it.  
"Satisfied" customers drank more and then became regulars.

Trying to recuperate from the embarrassment, he said the dumbest thing one could say in a bar. “You’re not from around here,” Stiles murmured. “What are you doing in a place like this?”  
Running his palm over his sleeve, the man flicked his tongue against his gleaming teeth. The warmth of his body gripped at something within Stiles and he swallowed hard.  
  
“Driving past, I took a wrong turn. Got thirsty and a friend of mine had told me about this place – how it’s _kind friendly._ I’m heading back home.”  
Please keep talking, Stiles thought. Every new word sent dazzling shivers up and down his appendages. ALL of them.  
  
“So where is home?” he asked softly. His dazzled gaze flitted from the rim of the glass to the man and back.  
"‘Lil place called New Orleans. _Currently_.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Stiles’ Adam’s apple bobbed. Racking his brain for things to say, he was terrified the man would get bored and leave. “Never been there, but I heard it’s nice. Mardi gras and jazz. Sounds like a fun place.”  
  
Shifting the stool closer, their knees now touching, he let his eyes rake hungrily over Stiles.  
The newcomer stuck out his hand.  
“Oh, it’s a lot more than that, love. Maybe one day you can come visit me and I’ll show you ALL the sights. I’m Klaus, by the way.”  
Leaned in to within an inch of Stiles’ mouth, he winks. “So… now you know who I am. And you are?”  
  
Klaus did know. His friend in town told him all about Stiles. But his interlocutor wasn’t privy to all his inside information.  
“Stiles,” he said, offering his right hand, deciding that being a little forward would be fine given the circumstances.  
As they shook, he saw his attention wander appreciatively across his body, lingering on the tattoos peeking from beyond Stiles’ sleeves.  
His stare came to settle on his ruby lips.

“Oh,” Klaus feigned surprise, “Ink”.

Instead of releasing his hand, he turned it over in his soft grip. Putting his drink on the bar, Klaus drew his fingertips across the soft skin of Stiles’ wrist. His touch was warm, like fire trailing across his flesh. Turning the design towards the light, he leaned closer.  
That was when Stiles caught a whiff of his deep, masculine scent and this time, it set his senses literally on fire. The butterflies in his stomach exploded into a tempest of beating hearts and flapping wings!  
A familiar ache began expanding between his thighs.  
Holy hell, this man was sex on a stick.

“Thanks,” he mangled his thoughts together, keeping his voice low. “I’ve plenty more where that came from but that’s one of my favourites”.

“Is that a dragon?” Klaus asked, soft voice and gentle sweep of his gaze over Stiles’ handsome features.   
The knowing smile he painted on his face a second later made his eyes crinkle.

“I get asked that a lot,” Stiles told him with one of those soft giggles he always used when he was trying to seduce someone. “But it’s a kraken.”  
“Now that is remarkable!”  
Klaus chuckled and the sound was music to his ears. In fact, anything he said in that smooth, British accent of his was music.   
Stiles found he wanted to keep talking to him just to hear more of it.

“I like it,” Klaus announced and his eyes bore into him again, held them, made it clear that the tattoo wasn’t the only thing he had an interest in.  
“So you said you have others?”

As he stroked Stiles’ forearm with his thumb and index finger, feather light, he scooted closer. Subtly sniffing to get another lungful of his intoxicating scent, his hip nudged against Stiles’ knee, firm.  
Klaus’ heavy-lidded eyes locked and when angled in, that was all Stiles needed to be sure. The itch building between his legs needed tending and he was going to do everything in his power to scratch it.  
“I do,” he cleared his throat. “Many others.”  
“I wouldn’t mind seeing them.”  
“I think that can be arranged,” Stiles smirked.  
Klaus couldn’t tear his eyes away from those adorable dimples if he tried. And Stiles… his fixed thought for the past five minutes were the two moles on Klaus’ neck, just shy of the hollow of his throat. Jesus help him!  
  
Leaning in as if he wanted to avoid being overheard, Klaus whispered against the sensitive lobe of Stiles’ ear. “Have you ever fucked a vampire, Stiles?”  
  
Holy hell! Direct much?! Stiles wanted to play hard to get. Just a little. To save some face and not have to admit that he wasn’t already hard and leaking pre.  
“Nope.” He made the _p_ pop. “But I’m kind of into werewolves, sorry.”  
Liar! And his shaky voice wasn't convincing anyone, either. Was it getting warm all of a sudden?  
  
Closing his fingers around his wrist, something glittered in Klaus’ gaze. With a sly smirk, he memorized the human’s racing heartbeat.  
  
“Your pulse says otherwise, love. And also, you’re in luck.” Revealing his secret into his companion’s nape as he stood up to shadow him _. “I happen to be both_.”  
Closer. So close the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck prickled and his breath hitched.  
“And just between you and me, for someone like you, Stiles… I can be whatever you want me to be, sweetheart.” 


	2. Pit Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Klaus get busy in the Stonehenge bathroom... just trying to kill a little time during the snow storm.

Stiles died then. Well, as much as a human being seduced by a hybrid could without actually perishing.  
Klaus. Okay, charming as fuck and hotter than hell. He could be persuaded to distract himself for a while.   
  
Knowing his way around the place, Stiles slid off the stool and led him across the bar, towards the bathrooms nestled down the one narrow hallway. The shifters watched from their corner, leaning close to mutter to each other, but neither Klaus nor Stiles cared.

Stiles opened the bathroom door and pulled Klaus in after him. Klaus enjoyed this very much- that Stiles _thought_ he was in control. It was nice.  
The human pushed him back against the wall and pressed his body close to his- more than happy to find his chest just as chiselled as his features. Stiles pressed one hand against his pecs, but his other came up between his legs and cupped his hefty package.  
It must have been all the Jameson kicking in... He'd been expecting something impressive, but even Stiles was surprised by how big Klaus felt through his denim.   
  
“Oh shit, Klaus.”  
“Stiles…” Klaus sibilated when he gently grazed the protuberance.  
"Yes?" Stiles whispered, a hair's breadth from his mouth.   
He grunted softly as Stiles' fingers hooked under his balls and his palm pressed into his semi-hard shaft.  
Kneading them, he felt him respond instantly; his warm cock unfurled, stiffening quickly beneath his experienced touch. Stiles was modest by nature but one thing he had to admit was that he knew just how to work a man over... and it showed.  
  
“Jesus, love… “

Stiles’s lips found Klaus' and he kissed him longingly, filling the silent bathroom with the soft slurping of their tongues twining together. Klaus' cock bucked against the fleshy part of his palm, quickly hardening to fill his pants.  
“You’re a firey one, aren’t you?” Klaus whispered, reaching for his lover.  
“Oh, you have no idea,” Stiles replied with a certain bravado he hadn't felt in a long time.  
  
Klaus was tiring of being passive. He forced his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and leaned into him, chest starting to heave under his ministrations, panting through his nose, bathing his cheeks and neck in his warm breath.  
Five fingers stole their way into the man's hair, the other slipping up beneath his shirt, caressing Stiles’ slender waist which tensed under his touch.  
“Oh fuck…” Stiles whined. He could feel himself trickling pre-come, getting harder than he had in months (just from being groped in a bathroom by a stranger!).

When he felt Klaus' sex straining, Stiles broke their kiss with a soft, panted groan and eagerly dragged him backwards, away from the wall and into the nearest stall. The door clattered shut behind them and Klaus was pressed against it.  
With a hungry, crooked grin, Stiles slid onto his knees in front of him, fingers already working feverishly at his belt. Looking up into his blue-green eyes, he seductively licked his lips as the buckle rattled free.

“Oh fuck me, Stiles… “

“That’s the idea...”

Gripping his pant legs, Stiles tugged them down past his thighs, letting them pool around his ankles. His boxer briefs were so sharply tented they looked like they were about to explode. At the very tip, he could already see a wet expanse of pre-come soaked into the fabric. The sight made him breathlessly giggle, his heart thundering in his throat. Pulling them down, Stiles practically moaned as Klaus’ thick cock bobbed free of its prison.

Calling Klaus’s girth impressive would have been an understatement. It stood rigid just inches from his face, pale flesh shot through with ridged blue veins. God, but he could have used the thing in a batting cage. He was uncut, just the way Stiles liked it, his foreskin pulled back just enough to show off the deep mauve head.

Klaus' light pubic hair had been trimmed back into neat curls that framed his entire package. Stiles’ right hand came up to stroke a single finger up the underside of his length, drawing a soft moan.  
Reaching his sensitive head, Stiles swiped up the glistening drop of pre with a fingertip. Looking up at him from under a cloak of desire, he brought that finger to his lips and sucked. It was deliciously salty on his tongue and the taste alone sent a tremor through his own hips.   
“Christ Stiles… “ Klaus whimpered, bracketing his head.  
“Just relax, baby, I'll take care of you.”

Giving into his animal instincts, Stiles closed his eyes and leaned forward to bury his face in his pubes. Breathing heavily, practically groaning into the folds of flesh at the base of his cock, he got a good whiff of his natural scent. It filled his senses, made him feel drunk with lust.  
Stiles nuzzled into his cock and balls, felt him tense, rubbed his cheek across the rock hard flesh.  
"Do you like this?" he mewled to which Klaus only stuttered in reply.   
"Ye- yes... "

A right hand came up to caress Klaus, wrapping his fingers around the base of his shaft, Stiles tilted it to one side, drawing up his lips. A warm, wet tongue slipped up the length, bathing it in his spit.   
“Mmm,” Klaus hummed.  
Tenderly drawing back the folds, Stiles gave himself full access to his slick crown. He flicked his tongue across the slit, licking up Klaus’s salt, massaging his firm skin.

Klaus gasped, grunted when his cock disappeared down Stiles' throat. Stiles ducked balls in, dragged his tongue across them, making it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. Klaus hissed in his grip, eager and wanting, and there was no way Stiles would keep him waiting.  
Stiles ate him with a lusty hum. Klaus' earthy, meaty taste combined with the soft texture of his foreskin made him light headed with need, especially with his lover's scent filling his nostrils.   
  
“Oh darling, give me more of that,” Klaus mumbled. He drew a trembling sigh of pleasure from his heaving chest and Stiles was rewarded for his efforts with more pre, eagerly lapping up every drop.  
Klaus’s hands found his head again, twined with his short, silky locks while his hips gently edged back and forth. The muscles across his stomach were rippling, twitching with pent up hunger and he felt electricity tear through his thighs, blossoming outwards from his aching cock. It was pulsing in time with his hammering heartbeat, swollen and throbbing.

“Ugh,” he grunted, “Oh...fuuuuck. That’s it, r-right there. What a talented mouth you’ve got, love”.

Klaus’ voice was a low and husky pant. Stiles was no amateur when it came to blowjobs, but he was pulling out every trick he knew now as he teased, slathering him in saliva. Gurgling sounds foamed past his lips as he nearly choked on this magnificence.  
Pushing past the discomfort, he took Klaus as deep as he could, filling the stall with the sound of "acks" and "guhs."

Klaus whimpered as he expertly deep throated him. Once he got a feel for his rock hard cock, Stiles bobbed, sliding smoothly back and forth, falling into a quick and experienced rhythm.  
His left hand hadn’t been idle. It had cupped his large balls all along, rolling them between his fingers. Pressing the palm up into those warm orbs, he gently kneaded. 

Grunting softly in time with his slurping and gulping, Stiles plunged his hand down between his own legs. Fumbling at the buttons of his dark jeans, he popped them open and delved into his boxers.  
He. Was. Granite.   
Dipping a fingertip past his sac and into his opening, he penetrated the ribbing. Moaning around Klaus’ thickness, Stiles quickened the pace, panting and huffing through his nose, inhaling the clean scent of his pubes with every dip.  
  
It was the sound of Klaus' voice and a tentative pull that made him stop. "I want to fuck you, Stiles. May I?" It wasn't so much a question. 

Opening his dark eyes, he slid off, Klaus' gaze boring through him with an intent that didn’t need words. Wow, _he was asking for permission_!  
Klaus’ head was laid back against the stall door, brows furrowed, chest heaving. Stroking his hand up and down his erection, Stiles worked on lubricating himself with a mixture of his sloppy spit and his dripping pre.   
"I want you to fuck me, Klaus... please." It was the beg that caught in his throat and made Klaus simper. “Hungry for it, are we love?”   
  
"Hungry for _you,"_ was Stiles' reply.  
Aquamarine eyes watched breathlessly as Stiles wriggled out of his shirt, tossed aside over the top of the stall. Eyes that knew centuries drank in the sight of the human's taut body, lips quirked into a sly smirk, cock bobbing between his thighs.

“Wow,” he smiled, “You have way more ink than I thought you did.”

Stiles jokingly rolled his eyes at his comment. “Not everyone gets to see them all,” he assured him, “You should count yourself lucky”.

“Oh, I do darling,” his voice was like honey as his eyes scoured his body clean.

Klaus stepped forward and Stiles leaned into his muscular chest, buried his nose and lips in the nape of his neck as Klaus' hands took over from his.  
“Let me help you with that,” Klaus murmured. He could tell how needy he was by how fast he pulled his jeans down over his hips and thighs, leaning back into his wandering hands as he got a handful of marble ass. 

“Mmmm, fuck,” Stiles practically purred, melting under his touch. “You’re not bad at this.”

“I haven’t even gotten started yet, love,” he told him with a cheeky smirk, radiating confidence. “I’ve only had a few centuries of practice.”

One graze across the stiffness between his legs and Stiles let out a soft sigh. Klaus’ lips worked at his neck, kissing tenderly, before his fangs popped, nipping at his skin.  
Stiles could feel the razor sharp tips and he stiffened, but his lover reassured him.   
  
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I only bite when asked,” Klaus quipped.  
Stiles let himself go, inebriated with need and the scent in the room. His curled digits trailed over hard abs, roamed up to his pecs and squeezed before sliding over Klaus' toned shoulders. He could feel the member prodding at his hip as they writhed together, felt it leave trails of their combined fluids across his groin.

A finger slipped into the waist of his boxers and they followed his jeans to his ankles.  
"That's better," Klaus breathed.  
Basking in Stiles’ nudity, he dragged off his trappings and then reached for his shirt. It came free and instinct made Stiles nibble his lower lip as his eyes raked Klaus’ toned body, drinking in the spectacle of his masculinity.  
Looking into his dark eyes, his warm breath washing across his cheek, Klaus leaned close, hands groping at his warm flesh and lustily whispered these words into his ear. “You know our kind can't spread disease...”  
"Yeah, I know. So what are you asking?" Stiles asked from behind a smirk, knowing full well. 

He was pushed back against the nearest wall, Klaus’s caresses washing across his bare skin as he held his form tight. His hands found Stiles' sticky fingers and they laced together. He lifted them above Stiles' head, pinning him against the flimsy stall.  
Nuzzling into Stiles, Klaus used his nose to tilt his chin so his fangs ran up the pumping artery. "Mind if I have a taste?"  
Stiles nodded, his knees jello. "Yes. Do it... do whatever you want to me."  
“Well if you're giving this delight away...”  
  
Stiles moaned an agreement into his mouth, drunk on ALL OF IT. Breath huffing through his flaring nostrils as his body rose against his, chest against rock-hard chest, Klaus bit in lightly, breaking just enough skin to coat his lips, swirling the blood in his mouth with a growl. 

“Christ, Klaus,” Stiles groaned, his veins pumping fire.   
"You taste like heaven," he managed, head thrown back in ecstasy.  
“Fuck me already," Stiles begged. Please fuck me."  
“Patience my little dove. Patience.”  
  
Patience?! Stiles screamed in his head. I’m about to bust here!

Slipping both wrists into one rough hand, Klaus reached down with the other between their legs. A finger trailed up Stiles’ groin, making him shiver and tremble under his touch.  
Working it back and forth, he dipped, letting a string of saliva fall onto his head.  
“I’m all out of lube, darling. Sorry.” Catching his own immense cock in the same hand, he bathed it in coppery saliva, making sure it was nice and coated.

Stiles could barely stand now, legs two rubber bands. Seeing Klaus' secretions mixed with his blood on his cock... he bucked into him, whining.   
“Eager little one, aren’t you?” Klaus whispered, guiding his engorged tip towards Stiles’ ass. “Lean in a little for me.”  
  
Stiles gasped, spreading his legs wide as he could. Then before he could calculate what happened Klaus disappeared inside his tight opening, head flung back with a deep throated moan.  
The thick foreskin unfurled as it passed inside, Stiles almost shouting in pleasure as he felt the long thickness stretch him wide open.  
“Holy shit, Klaus,” he squirmed against him, writhing into his steaming hot, chiselled body as Klaus plunged himself in and out of his.   
"So tight... "  
  
The build up had been too much. The blowjob and the groping and fuck... Klaus BITING him...   
“I’m getting close, baby,” Stiles shut his eyes to the light, letting in the one behind his eyelids. They hadn't even been going a minute but Klaus knew just where to hit. "I'm sorry..."   
A warm palm slapped in time to his rough breathing, Klaus continuing his onslaught- all fang and bloodied gaze.  
His smooth voice- that fucking British accent tickling his ear... "That’s it, love… come for me…”

“Oh shit oh fuucccck,” A low, almost primitive groan moved the air in front of Stiles’ face as he came, his base in a death grip as he fountained what could only be defined as a gush of come.  
Every muscle in his body locked up, toes curling and back arching as his body was rocked by an electrifying orgasm. Stiles’ beautiful eyes rolled back in their sockets as a trembling squeak escaped his lips. “Holy mother of God....”

Klaus finally drew away, their eyes meeting as Stiles’ entire body sagged, his breath coming hard and fast, hitching as his trembling body loosened its grip on his cock. He smiled with satisfaction, his beautiful eyes locked to his lover's, clearly drinking in every second of his orgasm.

“So good for me,” his British accent caressed Stiles' mind.  
Stiles’ response was a soft and lusty moan as he shook off his soiled hand. Treating him to his most seductive simper, he slipped his arms around his broad shoulders. "Your turn, big guy."  
  
Klaus easily reached down and hooked his hands around the backs of his thighs, Stiles weighing nothing for his supernatural strength. His muscles glistened with sweat, Stiles' long legs around his waist, anchoring himself in place.  
One with the cool wall, their warm and sweaty bodies pressed close and his lover’s cock buried itself once more.   
  
Klaus chased his own release with a similar fervor to that with which he pleasured Stiles. Pinned there, Klaus tunneled him with calculated thrusts. “Stiles,” Klaus mewled, blissed out.  
His husky laments mingled with Stiles’ soft groaning until he stiffened in the heat with one last glorious twitch. Chin coppery from the small bite earlier, he licked his lips as it crested. “I’m coming, love. I'm coming!”  
“Ooooooh, fuuuuck,” Klaus growled from behind his fangs.   
So much seed pulsed it leaked out of Stiles, trickling and lazily dripping down between the inside of his thighs. The way his lover was latching onto him, Stiles couldn't help but come again, soft drips plopping to the floor.

“Jesus,” Klaus panted, muscular shoulders heaving, stance wide to balance his lover’s trembling form which was still trapped in his embrace. “That was…. “  
"Incredible..." Stiles finished for him, his fingers sliding over Klaus’ torso, up into his soft curled hair. He pulled his lips to his. The tips of Klaus' fangs insisted against Stiles' soft flesh; it made him swallow hard.  
“You taste delicious,” Klaus licked a wide stripe down to Stiles’ clavicle. “Never thought I’d find someone like you in a place like this. Glad I passed through.”  
  
“Me too,” Stiles bracketed his face, going in for another open-mouthed kiss that tasted of iron and salt.  
“Your oral skills are like no one I've ever had, sweetheart, and that's saying something,” Klaus winked. "Just might want to take you home with me right now." 

They both groaned as they gently extricated themselves from each other. Klaus replaced his softening cock into his underwear, bringing with it a trail of his thick, shiny spend.  
Stile’s movements were slow and clumsy, muscles too warm and loose after multiple orgasms, but Klaus seemed to fare little better since he almost tripped over his own pants while he was pulling them on.  
“You’ve worn me out, sweetheart,” he breathed.  
“Yeah, tell me about it," Stiles nodded. "I can barely stand. But this was fun. Made me forget I got stood up.”  
"It's a sin to stand you up, love," Klaus replied. "His loss, my gain." 

They came together again before leaving the stall, fully clothed but just as hungry for each other’s tongues as before they’d started making out.  
  
“The guy that leaves you high and dry is a fool. You deserve all the attention. All of it. Remember that, Stiles,” Klaus reiterated as he washed his hands.  
  
Stiles' jean clad hips tilted towards his again, the chill of the sink's ceramic cutting into Klaus' backside. They grinned, one last graze of the lips a goodbye.   
He'd miss this kind of immediate mutual understanding- there was something special about this man, what had been said was completely true.  
  
“I have to go, Stiles. But this was lovely.” He meant it. Klaus hadn't had a lover nor a connection like this in centuries.   
“Maybe we’ll run into each other sometime," Stiles said, not even hiding his disappointment.  
“Maybe, love. Maybe.” If Klaus had anything to do with it, _for sure._  
  
“Hey, I never got your full name!”  
“Klaus. Klaus Mikaelsen. And you’re Stiles Stilinski, sheriff’s son.”  
What? How'd he know? But before he could ask, Klaus already had the door ajar. “See you around, little dove. See you around.”  
Stiles blinked, and in that instant heard the wood swing in the frame. Just a breath later Klaus was gone.  
  
Taking some time to freshen up and digest what the hell had just happened, Stiles finally exited the bathroom and made his way to his seat. There he discovered the slip of paper perched against his cocktail glass, boasting Klaus’s phone number and a thank you written in gorgeous penmanship.  
  
Mike smirked as he sat back down. “That guy left that for you. Told me to make sure you get it.”  
“Thanks, Mike.”  
“You look like you got... chummy.”  
Chummy. Stonehenge slang for “fucking a guy’s brains out in the bathroom.”  
  
Stiles chuckled. “Oh yes. Very. Twice, actually, but who’s counting?”  
Mike wouldn't admit he was a little envious. Like he'd made a sport of missing windows and being constantly disappointed in himself. But what was he supposed to do? How could he compete with _that_ guy?!  
“Good for you. Maybe he’ll come through again sometime.”  
  
“Maybe, " Stiles wagged his head. Or maybe he might take a drive down to New Orleans one day soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little smutty ending. :) I had a lot of fun writing Klaus.  
> I think there may just be a third chapter in NOLA


	3. The New Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finally makes it to New Orleans.

It was as if he was dropped into another world. The chaos of colours, smells (okay, perhaps _all_ the smells weren’t that great), and the cacophony of sounds assaulted his senses.  
Even the clothes, food, the music and cheering – it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. (Honestly he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it yet).  
He’d been a fan of jazz, especially brass instruments, so it was a delight to catch the music drifting in from each bar as he passed by their doors.  
Everything his eyes and ears took in was only supporting his belief that this place was NOTHING like Beacon Hills.  
Stiles thought to himself that he could hardly believe such an exciting city existed when one as boring as Beacon did, too… and “only” some 2 thousand 3 hundred miles away.  
  
Sure, the drive through Arizona and New Mexico was pleasant enough. He did fight an urge to kill himself somewhere halfway through his crossing of central Texas- but thankfully he’d overcome it. He made it safely to Louisiana (and without the Jeep having broken down nine times in the middle of nowhere). So this was it!   
A compulsion to detour toward something new took over him as soon as he stepped onto the pavement, but then he looked around him and thought… Jesus, just being here is my something new!  
Stiles stood at the corner of Toulouse and Bourbon, in awe of the crowd migrating left and right in brightly coloured costumes and masks. It was a flood of bodies down the main street.

He glanced down at the crumpled, faded scrap of paper clenched in his fist, the familiar feel of it steeling his resolve. He nodded to himself in encouragement and plunged into the crowd, letting it sweep him along the street.  
He’d never understood the phrase before, but now he realised it was exactly like being caught in the current of a river; his feet barely seemed to touch the ground and fighting it seemed so impossible he didn’t even try.  
Stiles allowed himself to literally get carried away.

Around him, people twirled and spun, and over their heads, he saw shop signs for cafes and clubs, gift shops and antique parlours. He had to do a double take – vampire _and_ voodoo shops?! Just out in the open?! The air perfumed of mystery and spirits whispered secrets into his ear.   
Extraordinary!   
A bubble of laughter escaped him.

His travel-rumpled jeans and tight shirt made him stand out oddly in the crowd, as if _he_ were the one dressed in a fluorescent feather- and jewel-encrusted bikini (as so many around him were).  
It was honestly overwhelming. Stiles couldn’t help but revel in the surrounding excitement; everyone was happy and cheering and that joy was infectious, even if he wasn’t already becoming giddy with a special excitement of his own.

Stiles was also nervous, though, and it showed. The way his eyes flitted about, bottom lip bit. He’d been pulling on his earlobe again and Christ, he hadn’t done that since high school.  
  
Stiles really hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in coming here. As he acknowledged that, his body slowed down, a little panic creeping through his limbs, but the crowd around him felt crushing instead of sweeping, and the panic made him perspire ice.   
  
He attempted to shuffle sideways, ducking under waving arms and tripping over dancing feet, and pressed himself into a shadowy doorway on the corner.

Chest heaving, his hands shook. He gulped in air to control his panic.  
Stiles looked round for a sign as to how far he’d managed to get and saw instead the glowing letters of the bar he was sheltering against: Rousseau’s.  
He startled, and peered down at the spiky handwriting on the scrap of paper, faded over time from black to grey. Relief and intense fear washed over him all at once. His shoulders didn’t know whether to tense or relax.

He swiveled in place to study the door, laying a hand against the painted red surface and willing himself to open it.  
“Come on, Stiles… this is why you drove all this way.”  
  
He couldn’t, and just stood there, feeling the throbbing bass playing inside vibrate through him.

Stiles stood like that, head hanging, jaw set, hand balled into a fist against the overwhelming obstacle before him, when it suddenly swung open, and he staggered forward.  
A man caught him, strong arms wrapping around his side.

“Whoa there, mate,” he exclaimed. Stiles jumped and looked up into two wide eyes that laughed down at him. They were so familiar, but when he looked closer, he realised they were a rich brown instead of ocean green, and he regained his senses, pulling himself up.  
“Are you alright, love?” The British accent dripped with more condescension than concern, but still, Stiles pursed his lips and nodded. The familiarity of the person before him itched at him. 

“Yeah, fine, I just... I was going to go in.”  
He noticed, for the first time, the beautiful brunette that stood next to the stranger, her hand on the small of his back in an almost possessive gesture. Her stormy eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and Stiles knew she must have seen as much weird shit as he had.

“Ok, well, you should go in. My brother’s in high spirits and the drinks are flowing in there. Not a party to miss,” the man winked. “Come along, darling,” he purred at the girl, and lead her off by her hand, melting into the crowd before Stiles had the chance to ask who he, or _his brother_ , was. But he was starting to get a feeling he already knew. 

Stiles took a deep breath and shoved the door so hard he stumbled over the doorstep. Inside, a party raged, music and laughter throbbing electric through the air, people dancing on tables and making out in corners.  
Of all of these things, Stiles was but dimly aware, as though one part of his brain was taking the time to look around and take note. The other, the slice dedicated to breathing and attraction and melting into the floor into a puddle of hormonal goo… only had eyes for the golden haired man leaning against the bar in the corner.  
He hadn’t seen Stiles, so he just stood there and took him in. Spying as that gorgeous creature looked around at the chaos; Stiles couldn’t help but feel like he was seeing a lion observe his kingdom.

The bartender leaned over to say something in his ear, reminding him of the friendship he had with Mike. The man returned a devastating smile, dimples forming in his cheeks, and it was such a beautiful sight that Stiles sucked in a tiny gasp.  
Like a flash, the man’s head turned and his vale eyes were on him, like he was attuned to the sound of Stiles’ breath, had been waiting for it for a long, long time.

Klaus Mikaelson’s grin spread wide across his face into a gleaming line of white teeth. Stiles’ spine tingled as phantom memories of his touch came flooding back and sailed over his flesh.  
He opened his arms wide in welcome as he crossed the bar to where Stiles stood.

“Stiles!” His deep voice boomed over the music, and the apprehension Stiles felt about not being wanted just melted away. Klaus wrapped his muscular arms around his waist, and for a second he looked like he was going to kiss him right then and there- but he checked himself.  
Stiles returned the embrace, a bit disappointed it hadn't happened. He allowed his nose to take in the musky, spicy smell of Klaus that had haunted him for the better part of a year. Christ, had it been that long since???  
With his face buried in Klaus’ neck, it felt like the past twelve months of misery hadn’t happened at all.

In that infinitesimal moment, which felt like a lifetime to Stiles, he wondered why he hadn’t come here straight after Klaus invited him on that winter night, why had he waited?  
Along with the bile, Stiles swallowed back the guilty lump in his throat because he knew why. Or rather, for whom.  
A raven-haired sour wolf who could give two shits about him had played with his emotions… but Stiles didn’t want to think about that right now. Not here, engulfed in Klaus’ arms, where it felt more like home than Beacon.

“I missed you, love,” Klaus breathed into him and Christ ...hearing that pet name again curled a coil of heat within him.  
“Me too,” he managed when he pulled off, the blond beauty patting him on the back as he led him over to the bar. Cami, his long-time friend and confidante, stood tending. She flashed a friendly smile at the newcomer, but there was also a touch of wariness in her eyes.

Stiles wondered if there was history between them and fought down a tiny wave of jealousy.  
Klaus was over a thousand years old; he couldn’t stay sane and think about his past relationships, (and it wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t been with his share of men). So he shoved insecurity to a darker recess of his mind and put on his best grin.   
Klaus politely asked Cami to pour them a drink, indicating a handsome bottle of malt on the side shelf. She tipped out a couple of shots, the golden liquid shimmering against the glass. With a wink, she left the bottle for them and stepped away to give them privacy.

“How have you been, my old friend?” Klaus asked, a warmth to his voice not even scotch could gift. 

“Ok, I guess,” Stiles sighed, his shoulders finally releasing their previous tension. There was a smile creasing his face that even memories of Derek couldn’t erase.  
“It’s been a bit of a weird year; Beacon Hills got really quiet after Scott and everyone else left.”  
Stiles glanced up at Klaus and raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I think I actually miss the supernatural drama.”

Klaus belly laughed at that, the sound warming. “Well if you miss supernatural drama, darling, you’ve come to the right city then.” His eyes flashed yellow for a moment, and his enchanting gaze darted around the room.  
For the first time, Stiles wondered how many of the bodies around him were actually human. One look at Klaus’ regal posture assured him he was safe, though. And welcomed, and by the king of New Orleans, no less.  
Licking his lips as he swallowed back some of the booze, Klaus wanted to shoot the elephant in the room immediately.  
  
“What about that fellow you were waiting for the night we met? Derek, was it? What happened there?” Klaus’ tone was calm, but his jaw tensed a little more than before.

“He...” Stiles stared into his drink and swilled it before swigging.

“Feel like I’ve touched a nerve there, love,” Klaus said, apologetic.

“Not exactly; it’s just a long story, and not a pleasant one. And,” he added, looking around the bar, “it feels a long way from where I am now; here, with you.” The corners of his mouth turned up and they clinked glasses. “And happy,” Stiles added as an afterthought. “What about you? What did you get up to?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Drank wonderful bourbon, seduced gorgeous people, destroyed some immortal foes – the usual things one does to forget a man that didn’t follow him out into a snow storm.”  
Not just his devastating smile… but _everything_ about Klaus disarmed Stiles, and he spilled a bit of his drink onto his shirt. “Oh shit!”

Klaus had to chuckle, his alert eyes crinkling. “You’re so cute and innocent, Stiles. Although, I know better, don’t I?” His smile was mischievous, and Stiles’ reaction to flirting was to play obtuse.  
“Klaus, you know I’m not cute.”  
Clucking his tongue, an air of wonder played onto his features and Klaus replied softly, “Oh no, you definitely are, and in so many ways. You have a pattern of freckles across one of your butt cheeks that just might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, but I think the fact I know that means you’re far from innocent, no? I still remember how well you… _treated me,_ darling.”  
  
Stiles flushed scarlet and looked around the room to avoid Klaus’ penetrating gaze.  
“Am I embarrassing you, pet?” Klaus continued. “I don’t mean to. It just drives me wild when you blush like that… especially remembering how good your lips look wrapped around my cock.”  
Sliding an arm down, he laid a hand on Stiles’ knee.  
Stiles looked down at it with a rush of fever in his blood and he darted his gaze back up at Klaus’ ocean eyes. The unspoken message was mesmerizing and Stiles gulped.

Those eyes were history books and personal diaries... but also spoke of future hopes and dreams. They washed different colours depending on his mood, and right now they were a dark green that Stiles thought he might drown in if he looked into their depths too long; but honestly, he was willing to risk that.  
Klaus’ touch and his firm focus had driven away his shyness, and, maintaining eye contact, he downed the rest of his whiskey and asked, “Well, are you going to show me around then? Be a good host?”  
What a surprise, Klaus thought pleasantly. Stiles had dug his courage our from his pockets and put it on display.  
  
Klaus finished his drink with the same politeness he undressed a lover- slowly. Then stood, waving to Cami as they walked out, he hooked his arm into Stiles’.  
She looked tentative as they left, and Stiles wondered again why she was so nervous about his being with Klaus. Before he could dwell on it too much, though, his host pulled him so near Stiles’ shoulder pressed into his side and the searing heat against him was enough to burn Cami from his mind.

“I know you’ve already met her, but let me be the first to welcome you to the wonderful, beautiful, irreplaceable New Orleans. The true city that never slumbers.”   
Klaus sauntered with him down the pavement, and the parade parted around them like water. Stiles marvelled again at Klaus’ majesty.  
Sweeping an open hand to gesture to the sights around them, Klaus continued, “They say that the Big Apple never sleeps, but that’s because everyone is always working. The Big Easy never sleeps because everyone is always having too much fun. We’ll all rest when we’re dead, right, Stiles?”

“Right,” he agreed. Stiles had never had that much of a night life, not like this – clubs and bars and dancing; Beacon Hills seemed steady and drab compared to this, which was crazy to Stiles when he thought about putting down Ghost Riders and befriending Hell-Hounds. Stonehenge was about as exhilarating as things got in Beacon- which wasn’t much.  
  
Yet this street alone seemed the very definition of vibrant, and he felt much more able to appreciate its vivacity with Klaus’ body his shadow, his breath tickling his ear when he talked.  
While Klaus carried on, explaining this odd fact and that, belly shaking from the occasional laugh, Stiles realised he was formlessly staring around the street and revelling in the various ways he was enjoying Klaus.  
He had not been listening to a damn word Klaus had said.

Noticing his guest was perhaps a bit “foggy,” the King stopped and turned to face him.  
“How about we take you to the Mikaelson house and drop your bags, darling? Let you freshen up...” his voice drawled and his eyes raked over Stiles’ body in a way that felt more intimate than anything Derek had done in the last year.  
“And we can see what happens from there…” left Klaus’ lips, his proposition dangling with delicious promise.  
Stiles suddenly felt faint, his knees wobbly.  
“I do want to take you dancing tonight, though, my little prince.”  
  
 _What was he doing to him?!_ “Oh, I don’t really dance...”

“Come now, I’m sure you’ve got some moves,” Klaus wheedled.

“No really, it’s bad. Like… terrible. One time I went to this gay club with Scott and…nevermind. Trust me. Bad.”   
He looked dramatically into the distance, making Klaus chortle.

Leaning so close he made the air molecules quiver by Stiles’ ear, Klaus whispered, “Well I know for a fact how you move, love, and I disagree... but we can talk about that later.”  
  
His words on Stiles’ neck made all the fine hairs there stand up, and for a moment, Stiles lost his motor functions and tripped over the outstretched leg of a scantily dressed woman doing ballet among the crowd. When he regained his composure, he could walk again, but they’d stopped.

Stiles was pretty determined to get to Klaus’s house. “Where do you live, then?”  
  
Klaus gestured to the grand old building before them. “Welcome to the Mikaelson Compound.”

Holy shit! It was elegant, regal and so beautiful, but when they crossed the gorgeous courtyard and finally stepped inside, Stiles realised it was _really a home_ , and to an extensive family, no less.  
Paintings lined the walls. Stiles stepped over to examine them as Klaus went to fetch them drinks.  
The first featured the two people he’d met outside the bar, the plate underneath naming them as Kol and Davina. The next image was of a beautiful blonde woman and a handsome, brooding gentleman apparently named Rebekah and Stefan.  
Then there was Freya and Keelin, and Elijah and Hayley with their daughter, Hope.  
At the end was a blank space that Stiles frowned at, before turning to the other side revealing an enormous family portrait, seemingly from a long time ago based on the dress. It featured four other people that weren’t on the other wall; a boy with a cheeky smile, a young man with long hair and a sharp look, and a couple that looked to be their parents. So Mikael and his wife, Stiles guessed. Klaus was there, too, though his portrait didn’t hang anywhere.

“What do you think?” Klaus’ voice startled Stiles from his reverie.

“Oh my god, they’re stunning. Is this...?”

Klaus nodded. “My family. _Always and forever_.”  
He said the last part like a prayer, and the vulnerability in his eyes surprised Stiles. Klaus turned to look at him, handing him a glass of whiskey.  
“These are my brothers and sisters and their families,” he said, sweeping his arm down the row of portraits. “My brothers, Henrik and Finn, are missing. Henrik died as a child, and Finn couldn’t live with being a vampire. My parents couldn’t bear our immortal lives, either. The rest of us, we thrive now, and we love each other dearly.”

“You’re not on the wall...” Stiles started to say.

“No, I’m not.” Klaus pressed his lips together in an amused grimace. “I’m always the artist, not the model. Besides, I would have hated to see myself up there alone. We get a painting when we find our one true love."  
A melancholy to the statement made Stiles turn his head. The touch to his forearm, instead, made his heart stop. It was something in the way Klaus was studying him... the gentleness of his caress and the gaze so dizzy with hope and adoration.   
  
He felt his heart lurch. The pregnant silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but all the same Stiles coughed and returned to admiring the pieces, a scarlet fever burning through his veins.   
“You painted these, Klaus?”  
Now it was Klaus’ turn to blush, aiming for a look of modesty, but failing miserably. “They’re absolutely incredible.”

“Thank you. I have always loved art. Maybe you’ll let me paint you sometime?” He purred this last part, and Stiles felt his limbs tingle and tremble again.  
“Shall I show you around?” Klaus offered his arm and Stiles smiled as he hooked his into it, thinking of how certain gestures made Klaus seem so much the English gentleman.   
_

The tour ended in the most important place. Stiles had been waiting all along.  
  
“And this is my chamber. It used to be the ballroom, which is why there's such an enormous balcony opening down onto the garden. Please, feel free to look around.”  
Klaus poured himself into a recliner and watched as Stiles wandered about the room, tracing his fingers over gorgeous antiques.  
They were stunning and some absolutely priceless, but he couldn’t actually focus on them, not with Klaus’ gaze on his back and the looming presence of the huge four poster bed in the middle of the room.  
Flashes of the Stonehenge bathroom passed in front of his eyes as desire lit a flame within him. Each fresh vision made his groin tense further. He could feel his heartbeat picking up, and then suddenly Klaus was behind him.

“You know, darling,” he whispered, “I can hear your heart thudding through your chest.” His breath was fiery against Stiles’ nape and the sensation made him weak.  
  
Klaus planted a soft kiss right below his ear and Stiles lost all resolve. He turned and caught Klaus by surprise, crushing his mouth to his.  
The kiss was everything he remembered _and more_.

His lover groaned into him, and Stiles whimpered as he opened the seam of his lips. His tongue slipped in and their muscles met as they fought furiously for dominance.  
Both had the other’s head bracketed, their kiss so deep their noses scrunched together. Had Klaus needed to be breathe his lungs would have been terribly constricted.  
  
Neither wanted to break away, but Klaus did, only so Stiles could catch his breath. With that as an excuse he led him to the edge of the bed.  
“I can’t believe we resisted this long,” he confessed as he beckoned Stiles down onto his lap and snaked his powerful arms around him. "I've been wanting to do this since Rousseau's."  
Claiming Stiles again felt like paradise. Their mouths meshed once more, this time for longer and more intimately. Klaus glided his hands down Stiles’ sides, playing with his ribs like he would an ivory keyboard.  
One hand dipping towards the waist of his pants, Stiles raked his fingers through Klaus’ tawny hair, and moaned into his depths as the other man tugged gently on the hem of his shirt.

“Jesus, Klaus, I want you…”  
Stiles’ back arched in a want conceived a year earlier. The satin smoothness of Klaus’ flesh already drawing him back into the spell, Stiles sighed into him. Klaus took the opportunity to trail sweet kisses down his exposed throat.  
The recollection of his taste, his scent, brought forth Klaus’ fangs.  
  
“I missed this, love. I missed you… “  
Klaus had entertained plenty in the time that Stiles had given Derek another chance. But the man from California had a burner, always tending embers in the back of his mind. And now here he was, in Klaus' city… his home… _his bed._  
  
The velvety skin where Klaus was nipping was so sensitive that Stiles groaned unabashedly. Klaus nibbled gently, and pushed his hand down the back of Stiles’ jeans, his nimble artist’s fingers tracing patterns over Stiles’ butt cheek.  
  
“Stiles…” Klaus was holding him so tightly, their kiss progressing into something harder and more forceful. Klaus quickly melted as Stiles wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in. This time, it was _his_ pecks tripping along Klaus’ jaw, _his_ hands roaming, and Klaus, surprised as he was, was submissive, for the first time in his life. He let himself be led as he sensed Stiles wanted it this way… perhaps needed this.

Slowly, without breaking, Stiles manoeuvred Klaus onto the bed. He reached for the neck of Klaus’ thin cotton shirt and jerked it off over his head, continuing his exploration down the valley of his chest and stomach.  
Klaus hissed in pleasure, dragged his fingers through Stiles’ cropped hair, kneading at the back of his neck. He’d reached the top of Klaus’ jeans and was grazing his tips against the dip at his waist.  
  
Stiles raised his eyes to meet his Klaus’, which had turned a turbulent stormy grey in their desire. The intent was clear, and Stiles slid back up to give him a tantalizing kiss against his hungry mouth.  
  
“You surprise me, Stiles Stilinski,” Klaus muttered against his slick lips. “I didn’t think people could do that to me anymore, but you... You’re something else entirely.”

“I feel like I was meant to be here, Klaus,” Stiles whispered as he wagged his head. “I can’t explain it.”

Klaus could, but it wasn’t time yet to reveal such things. “Maybe that’s it, love,” Klaus simply replied instead. “Maybe this was written in the stars.”  
The blood pumping through Stiles’ veins was like the pounding of ceremonial drums waking something within Klaus.  
The King fumbled urgently with Stiles’ jeans, undoing them to slide them off with just a couple shimmies.

He released his cock from his boxers and with no pomp or circumstance, swallowed it into his mouth, sliding his tongue over the tip as he tugged on the shaft with his firm hand.  
“Oh fuck…” throwing his head back, Stiles twisted his fingers in Klaus’ dark blonde curls and groaned, savouring the sensation of perfection that was his mouth.  
He allowed himself this- to feel good. After all the shit Derek Hale had put him through the past year… the lies and the torment… he deserved this. Someone kind and attentive.  
  
For several minutes, Klaus’ mouth performed its ministrations, his tongue not neglecting to flick gently over his heavy balls as he took all of Stiles’ length in his throat.  
An inaudible hum made his cock vibrate and it took all of Stiles’ willpower not to come.  
  
It was only when Stiles felt the tightening in his belly grow dangerous that he tugged harder on Klaus’ hair, and pulled his face back up to his own. He kissed him with total abandon, hard and deep, letting the tension in his body fade.  
They rolled onto their sides, legs twining and stroking each other with their free hands.  
“Baby please,” Stiles pleaded, and it lit a fire in the hybrid whose eyes flashed amber.

Stiles rolled over, so that Klaus was pinned under him, unable to escape, ghosting fingertips over every inch of revealed skin as they finished undressing.  
“Come here, sweetheart,” Klaus hissed, pupils black with desire.  
The air was thick with need and musk and creature and human alike were not unaffected. Klaus turned Stiles and put himself up onto his knees. Stiles lay face-down, so that his ass was high in the air, his face pressed into the pillows as he reached back to play with Klaus’ sex while he positioned himself.

“I’ve missed those freckles,” Klaus quipped, sending Stiles into a fit of laughter. Though they were in no rush, the accumulated tension set the pace.

Klaus was gentle, but eager- pressing slowly into him as Stiles moaned in ecstasy, his hands balled into the expensive linens, muffling his shouts into a pillow.  
Klaus took his time, stroking him and spoiling him with compliments and kisses on his back.  
He made love to him slowly, with calculated thrusts, pulling back whenever Stiles’ sounds of pleasure edged towards pain.  
Soon, though, Stiles relaxed, and his panting made him quake, his pleasure building to match Klaus’ who’d begun to noticeably speed up.  
  
“Oh darling you feel so good, so tight.”

Klaus was unravelling… what was happening at the moment mixing in with flashes from their encounter in Beacon… the whole film a beautiful personal porno playing just for him... he gave in, allowing the pressure and the heat to build.

“Love, I’m close..”  
  
Stiles was no less a mess. He’d been fucked before, many times… but not this well, with such care and tenderness and expertise! Their laments were getting louder and more erratic, breathlessly uttered into the endless night.  
It was Stiles’ orgasm that pushed Klaus over the edge, and soon the pair lay entwined in the sheets, gasping, their ruddied cocks throbbing and sticky from release on their slick stomachs.

Something came over Klaus then... An almost ancestral calling. He pulled Stiles’ head onto his chest, stroking a stray lock from his forehead and kissing his crown sweetly.  
He sighed with a depth that made his ribs sink as he lay back.   
This felt right. Perfect. As if that book he’d place a marker into was complete now- could be shut and put away to be cherished forever.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Klaus chuckled, chest hopping in brief hiccups to mimics Stiles’. “You’re more fiery than you seem, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles shivered. “Oh god, don’t call me that. You sound like my old lacrosse coach.”  
  
Comic relief broke the odd yet not totally uncomfortable sensation for a moment. “Well then, _love_ , you still surprised me. So much hunger in you.”

Pulling himself out from under Klaus, Stiles’ stare bore into him. “A lot. For you. Since I met you at Stonehenge. I regret not coming sooner, Klaus. I shouldn’t have wasted a year on Derek, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”  
  
Stealing another smooch, Klaus dragged his thumb over the apple of Stiles’ cheek. “I think everything happens when it needs to, darling. Not one second before. What matters is you’re here now.”  
“Yeah, I am.” And Stiles had no intention of running back to Beacon any time soon.   
  
A revelation lit up Klaus’ face which was already softened in pure adoration. “Come here. I want to show you something.”  
Standing, and pulling Stiles up with him as he did so, Klaus walked him to the large glass balcony doors, grabbing two robes thrown over the chaise lounge as he went.  
They covered themselves, and once they were decent… stepped out into the warm late-evening sun, admiring the ongoing carnival. A pretty decent view of the city beneath them opened up like an oyster.

Klaus wrapped a possessive arm around him from behind, and Stiles leaned back into it. He wasn’t minding any of this.   
  
“Everything alright?” Klaus whispered in his ear, nuzzling in with his dainty nose. 

Stiles nodded. “Everything is perfect.” It was. It honestly was.   
  
“All this… all this is mine. And… it could be yours.” Klaus swallowed quietly. He rested his chin on the bony jut of Stiles' shoulder.  
Here went everything...

“Would you… would you stay and be my prince, Stiles?”  
  
Stiles swiveled on his heel, eyes wide and wet like honey combs. Still caught in Klaus’ hold- both literal and figurative, he marveled at all this evening had had to offer. It was as if Klaus had peeked inside his heart and made good on a promise made centuries past to love him for all eternity.   
Or that’s how it felt, anyway.

“You... you want me to stay?” the lilt to his voice was so endearing it wrung something within Klaus’ cursed soul- teasing into the light something human again. Forgotten. 

“Very much so.”

Stiles leaned in and lay a gentle kiss on Klaus’ rose bloom mouth. Unbelievable how enchanting one man could be. “Then I’ll stay. I'd be honored,” Stiles’ voice broke. He sighed and turned back to the city, not wanting Klaus to see his eyes fill with tears. Klaus pressed tighter against him, fingers laced together and their sighs deflating until their breathing rose and fell as one.

The grin on his face could perhaps only compete in magnitude to the joy and relief in his soul. “It already feels like home, Klaus.”

Klaus wasn’t going to let him go again. Not if he could help it. Stiles was special... their meeting, though Stiles didn't know it yet, was fated. Assisted by clever planning and perfect timing- but fated.  
That’s precisely why Klaus had gone to Beacon Hills searching for him in the first place- the time had come for Klaus to claim his prince.   
  
"It's _your_ home now, Stiles. All this is yours. And I'm yours, too, if you'll have me. An eternity with you wouldn't be enough but I’ll take what I can get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying writing this so much, I've decided to give it one more chapter! Kudos and comments are always encouraged and appreciated and I get back to each one!


	4. Shadow Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude in New Orleans. Klaus and Stiles play a little game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise chapter! Some sexy and sultry roleplay for our boys. 🖤 I waxed a little poetic, forgive me.

Out in the darkness I saw an angel  
Held back the flood until the sky fell  
I see the future covered in roses  
Waves of gold as the door closes...  
  
*****************  
  


Stiles grinned to himself as he turned a corner into what he knew to be a vamp-friendly street. He’d been here less than two months and already he could blindly navigate these roads.  
  
New Orleans. _Home._  
He never thought his life would be so… interesting now. As he savored NOLA’s evening air once more, he thought how Beacon Hills seemed so far away.   
Another time. Another place. Another Stiles.  
Almost all of what he’d left behind felt so foreign.  
  
There were very brief moments where he’d thought of what Derek Hale might be doing or thinking. Honestly, someone who even in friendship hadn’t bothered to text a “Where are you? How are you?” didn’t hold much esteem in Stiles’ eyes.  
It was all for the best, what had happened. It took one look from his lover’s adoring gaze now and all that heartache was forgotten. He was so glad he'd decided to come.   
  
Klaus. Their little game. Yes.  
His heart was thundering in his chest and the more his throat thickened, the more Stiles inhaled, filling his lungs to capacity. A small half-turn of his head revealed to him that his lover was still there, lurking in the shadows. 

Before letting the recycled molecules out through his nostrils, Stiles forced his ribs to expand and retract. Each such breath filled and emptied him until he felt faint.  
Even though he couldn’t see it, he FELT the intensity of Klaus’ gaze behind him. A low groan left his strawberry crush lips.  
He loved to be the prey. His cock was furious in its tight prison already… the anticipation delicious.  
  
A pair of eyes the color of curacao liquor studied this bellowing, watching as Stiles’ muscular shoulders stretched the seams of his shirt with every expiration.  
Cerise lips slicked over and a tip of fang dragged against the length of his tongue.  
Klaus was famished… and Stiles looked good enough to eat. Klaus’ voracity for his prince burned in his veins. His little mouse… so pretty and so far from innocent.  
Perfect. Soon he would be his once more.  
  
When Stiles advanced, so did Klaus. When he stilled, Klaus stepped lightly into the semi-darkness, a wicked smile broadening into something dazzling.  
  
Stiles bent his head as he took the remaining steps to his destination. The exhilaration infused warmth into his body, a tingling surge starting in his chest and spreading outward.  
  
Klaus was no less tempted. The necklaces around his creamy throat gleamed against the low lamplight. The pendants he anxiously fingered between two digits kissed the bare expanse of his chest, the buttons on his shirt collar yawning open to reveal a dusting of fair chest hair over roped muscle.  
Such an inviting proposition, Stiles thought, when he had noticed the open V a block back. He wished he could swipe his tongue there in concentric, receding circles.  
  
The game went on long enough for them to be limb-heavy in need, each other’s tastes a welcome memory on their lips.  
The human battled the ravenous desire that ripped through him- and the vampire, his bloodlust and sexual frenzy.  
For now, the throbbing in Klaus’ groin was all that bombarded his mind. But he knew, by his nostrils that were invaded by Stiles’ earthy scent, that even without having him in sight, he could find his prince in a mere handful of his erratic heartbeats.  
 _It was a sound Klaus had memorized… ages ago._  
  
Stiles turned into a narrow passageway, stones so wet from the earlier rain they mirrored the waning moonlight in a blurry, off-white half crescent at his feet. Werewolf moon.   
_Fucking werewolves._ (He oft forgot that his Klaus was also one, though luckily he preferred to live mostly in his vampire skin).   
  
But returning to the game, he came upon a cobalt door and tried the knob. It opened with a creak.   
Stiles crossed its threshold as someone’s footsteps echoed in his wake. The hair on Stiles’ neck spiking to attention and the shivers of promise sailing over his skin teased him to what (and who!) was coming.  
Stiles disappeared inside. Swallowed enough into the space to be partially in view, his eager eyes shone like maple syrup as they adjusted to the illumination.  
He waited.  
  
When the door shut for the second time, the soft click of the lock the only sound above their haggard breaths… Klaus fell upon him. Pulse thrumming so hard in his ears he thought he would lose all resolve… almost immediately Stiles did.   
Even a level-headed human like him could no longer resist (and honestly, why would he want to?!)  
  
“My apologies for taking so long, my love,” Klaus whispered against the artery throbbing visibly in Stiles’ neck, his exhale hot want. He growled low, baring his fangs. “But I do so love to play with you. My little mouse. _Such a good little mouse_.”  
  
Stiles gasped at the contact…the sudden prick… just a taste for now. “I missed you, Klaus,” he breathed, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Even though it had only been a few hours… this is how they were. Attached at the hip. Utterly and completely enamored.  
  
“May I?” Klaus’ nail was a slow drag along the cord bulging in his neck and it made Stiles huff, his senses electric. The moles off center to Klaus’ Adam’s apple begged for a kiss after a long erotic caress delivered his left hand to Stiles’ cock.  
“Please… dear God, please…”  
  
Klaus tilted his straw-colored head, growling his lover’s name when Stiles’ lips fell right to the spot he’d been coveting. A moment later, plunging his fangs into the origin of Stiles’ existence, Klaus sunk into the two puncture wounds he’d already left weeks before.  
They were tiny, the holes, having healed after each feeding. Yet they were still captured inside a small purple half-moon that had risen against Stiles’ golden flesh, so close to his clavicle it couldn’t be anything else but a mate mark.  
And indeed it was.  
Stiles gasped as his blood flowed, blatantly sexual and searing the sensation of Klaus sucking on him, from him… the tip of his hot tongue lapping at the iron… Stiles’ wetness, his life’s serum joined them once again in something much more primal and profound than simple sex.  
Stiles had been chosen. Claimed. Mated. He was the crowned Prince of New Orleans.

“Hmhmmm….” Stiles whimpered, chest meeting chest, the cold of ceramic tile refreshing his flushed skin as he clung to his King.   
“You taste so good, darling,” Klaus murmured from between copper-stained lips, small rivulets flowing down his bearded chin and dripping over the hollow of his throat. “I love you. _I worship you_.”  
 _  
_“Oh God, Klaus,” Stiles could barely stand, the first hint of orgasm coiling inside him without even being touched or stroked. (This had become more and more common with the mark. Klaus’ ability to manipulate his basest reactions simply with his presence had increased tenfold).  
  
With a butterfly play of the tip of his tongue, Klaus stole his way down the valley of Stiles’ chest, down to the protuberance in his trousers.  
Stiles hissed, the right side of his cherry-red pucker disappearing behind folded lip.  
A light smoldered in Stiles’ gold-flecked orbs when Klaus dropped to his knees in literal worship and nudged Stiles’ legs apart. He extracted the needy length with practised ease.   
  
“Do you want me, love?” Klaus purred. The scene whet his appetite so… such a needy mouse before him. _  
_“Please, Klaus… Please… “ one hand reached for Klaus and the other sought balance against the old kitchen wall.

Klaus had owned this place once, before hurricanes and a devastating economy forced closure. It was in abandoned properties like this that they enjoyed their “prize” after giving chase to each other all night.   
_This is how Klaus wanted his lover: desperate.  
_ _Begging.  
_ _Hungry for it.  
_   
Stiles, two glittering slits for eyes, reveled in the intimate kiss that sang through his veins with quicksilver heat. It was akin to sinking into quicksand, but YOU WANTED IT! Sweet God did you want it...  
Tendrils of tawny curl sprouted from between his splayed fingers as he possessively guided Klaus’ head.  
  
“More, please _more_ … “ was his broken, pathetic plea. Klaus grinned, the pressure of his lips around Stiles’ cock increasing. He loved to oblige and did so savagely.   
  
Eyes closed but all too aware of the growing dawn behind his own lids… Klaus’ cheeks hollowed, sucking just as avidly on his lover’s cock as he had his neck earlier.  
Stiles bucked, letting himself familiarize yet again with the dark, velvet recesses of his vampire’s superlative mouth.  
Oh, the bliss… sinking into the abyss that was Klaus…  
A fist around Stiles’ length helped glide it deeper into his throat.  
  
“Klaus… “ Stiles whined. Tensed. He was so close but not ready to admit it. A tremor inside him blazed across his thighs and through his cock.  
The lust rose just like the prickles dressing his thirsty flesh. Klaus roved up and down the soft skin of Stiles’ inner thigh with silken delicacy, five fingers teasing his balls and then his opening.   
The knowing and almost painful ache building there… the rhythmic flexing of Klaus’ hot mouth on his cock along with two fingers stretching his innermost place…  
It threatened to make Stiles’ knees give way.  
“Klaus… I’m close, I’m close… “  
  
Weary beyond endurance, Stiles sank to the floor, reaching for the solid strength of Klaus’ arm to steady him.  
Klaus never detached. He reveled in all this… the power he held over his mate. It had left him with a raging erection and a gut-wrenching desire to make sure Stiles would never, ever leave his side again.

He helped him down safely and like some primeval Passover, submitted Stiles to his carnal punishment from a supine position.  
A single tear escaped past fluttering lash, one of a few forming in the corner of Stiles’ eyes. (It’s not that Klaus didn’t feel this closeness.. Christ, he did more than Stiles… but he couldn’t in that moment show his weakness- and that was his need to have Stiles near).

This wasn’t yet the moment for sappy confessions from stone cold killers. Someone needed satisfying. They both did.

Stiles’ low moans vibrated through his body and it brought Klaus back to reality.  
“Klaus… “  
It was time. He curled the digits deep enough inside him and landed one last devastating twist to Stiles’ cock.

When Stiles broke, it was with one of the most polite and stuttered whimpers... Klaus raised his chin like he would a teacup, except it was he who was drinking. It was Klaus swallowing eagerly until he’d drained Stiles of this _other_ sweet release.

The vampire collapsed onto him and then raised his arms, scooping Stiles up like he would a rag doll, his lover snaking his hands tightly around his neck.  
  
They clung to each other, hard, as if tomorrow weren’t a promise held in fate’s hand… and Stiles reclaimed his lover’s swollen lips once more. He didn’t think he could love someone this much.  
 _  
“You know you don’t have to test everything to destruction, my love…”_ Stiles breathed. He could barely get the words out, the act of drawing air sweet agony as he fanned his digits wide apart and brushed the coarse growth of hair on Klaus’ comforting breast.   
  
The knowing glance, the smirking wink, it turned him into jelly. “That’s the only way I know how to love, Stiles. I’ll never give you less than that,” Klaus promised, aware of Stiles shifting beneath him, guiding their groins together.  
“I’m all yours, Klaus... until the end of time. I love you, my King.”  
  
“I know, I know…” the vampire sibilated as he kissed along Stiles’ jawline, nuzzling in against the spot right above his claim. Klaus was drunk with lust now, writhing against Stile’s adorable face, his entire body quivering like an arrow. "I love you, too."  
Stiles sat up, hands travelling lower, inching Klaus’ creamy thighs apart and ghosting over his swollen cock.  
“Now it’s my turn, baby,” his espresso eyes widened in false innocence. “Let me show you how _I love_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested a little more smut... I thought maybe the boys having some fun on NOLA streets might be the ticket. Tried to make it a little "tasteful" and I hope I succeeded.  
> I'm shipping these two so hard, I'm not gonna lie. 🖤 They will be the end of me, too. 
> 
> Lyrics at the beginning are from the song Sirens by Fleurie


	5. Two Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We get a painting when we find our one true love."  
> Klaus shows Stiles a painting. Maybe two.
> 
> Have you ever loved so much you were ready to make the ultimate sacrifice?

Cami leaned in, pouring a third shot. “Penny for your thoughts?”  
She thought murky musings immediately as the words dropped from her lips, to when Klaus had said the same to her on that balcony in what seemed like… ages ago. Before they’d kissed. Before…  
Striking those recollections aside, she shook her head as if to liberate herself of the cobwebs.  
It was a different time. And Klaus was a different person now. He was promised to another regardless of their past.  
  
“You know, Cami… I’ve been here 6 months now. And I…"  
Stiles needn’t have said any more. She understood, from the sloping of his shoulders to the absolute reverence in his wet russet gaze. Any doubts she might have had… well they had dissipated long ago.  
She adored Stiles. Had left her stamp of approval after not even a month. What Cami cared about, truly, was emotion. Verity had spelled the following: Stiles Stilinski loved Klaus Mikaelson with everything he was. That was enough.  
  
She clasped her warm hand over Stiles’, squeezing gently in a reassuring gesture. If anyone could be called to arms, it was her. Knowing all too well that what it meant to love that man whose affection they shared meant scraping past the line of self-destruction… she wanted to be there for Stiles. Entering the Mikaelson family wasn’t easy. Not by a long stretch.  
She was privy to what Freya had shown her ex-lover and Cami had decided long ago to be on Klaus’ side, no matter what. Whether they were a couple romantically linked or not didn't matter, she loved him. She always would. All she desired was his happiness.  
  
“I know, Stiles.” Her fixed stare glued him to his seat at the counter where just 6 months prior he’d been reunited with Klaus. “He loves you. With every fibre of his being. Never doubt that. He would give his life for you... if he could," she winked.   
“Yes, never doubt that,” said a voice in a thick British accent. A shadow fell over Stiles in the seat's occupancy next to him. “I’ll get the gent’s drinks, love. After all, we’re almost family.”  
What the hell?!  
  
Stiles shifted in his place, expecting to see Kol, (with whom he’d shared numerous aperitifs and meals in the past months). Instead, the shot glass spilling over slightly at the movement was due to his recognition of the face to whom the voice belonged… it hadn’t changed one bit. It was a representation already hanging in the manor.  
Elijah Mikaelson.  
Holy shit!  
“Thank you. You don’t have to get my drinks, I mean… “ he stuttered. Stiles was literally shaking in his boots.   
  
Elijah, dressed to the nines in a suit that Stiles surmised cost more than his shitty Jeep, (and which made him stand out in this bar like a sore thumb)… extended a hand.  
“Nonsense. My pleasure. I figure from the disfiguring horror in your eyes you know who I am.”  
  
Stiles did. Boy did he ever. “You're Elijah Mikaelson. Klaus’…”  
“Yes yes,” his grip tightened on Stile’s hand, almost to the point of Stiles having to wince. “I’m Niklaus’ brother. For better or worse.”  
  
This was no chance encounter, Stiles quickly decided. Cami’s face paling was confirmation that he was probably right.  
“And you’re Stiles Stilinski. My brother’s… _companion_.”  
  
Only their corner of the bar seemed to suffer a lull. As if voices had died down in their proximity out of respect for the latest representative of the surname having resurfaced.  
“I am,” Stiles replied, not being exactly sure if Elijah’s tone was critical or simply factual.  
"Yes. Indeed." Picking up his own shot glass between two fingers, Elijah raised a toast. His dark eyes surveyed all of Stiles, putting him to memory.   
“To eternal love. To the man who has brought the smile back to my brother’s lips, and levity to his usually empty, cold heart.”  
  
The liquor went down burning as much as Elijah’s gaze. “I have just left Niklaus at the manor, Stiles. Had with me an object that he needed delivered. He’s sending a message to return there, to your chambers. He won’t be joining you here this evening after all.”  
  
Why the change of plans? Stiles wondered. They’d had agreed to meet at the bar for drinks and then… and why send his brother to convey the news and not just text him?  
  
“I’m only the messenger, Mr. Stilinski.” The perplexed look on his face led the Mikaelson brother to offer an explanation. Klaus was whimsical and changing plans last minute was not unheard of. Whoever this gent was would need to get used to it, Elijah thought.   
Slapping a hand on the hard wood, he patted Stiles on the shoulder with his other palm. “I’m off, then. It was a pleasure to meet you in person, man who stole my Niklaus' heart.”  
  
With that, Elijah slid with practised ease from the stool and stood upright, adjusting his jacket sleeves like a man who owned THE WORLD.   
“We shall be seeing one another again if all goes well, Mr. Stilinski. And we shall definitely see one another if you ever break his heart. Until then I beg you take gentle care of my brother."   
Leaning in for emphasis, the sear in his dark gaze made Stiles swallow hard. "It would be in your best interest.”  
  
When Elijah had left, Stiles looked at Cami, who seemed to shrink, her alabaster complexion sheet grey.  
What the hell was all that about?! What did Elijah mean _, if all goes well?_?   
_

Klaus placed the canvas on Stiles’ lap as they sat thigh to thigh on the edge of their bed. When he removed the cloth, Stiles gasped.  
 _Both bodies were intertwined, covered by a translucent piece of red silk. A crimson thread hung from their pinky fingers, as the two naked lovers met in a wild kiss. Both were standing on the edge of the balcony that Stiles was already familiar with: it was the one opening out into the gardens from Klaus’ chamber.  
A breathtaking painting. _

“Did you- did you paint this for us, Klaus?”  
It was an unusually quiet night in New Orleans, as if all its creatures human and not had been asked silence. Just a few sounds disturbed the serenity of their private moment. The smell of the magnolias from the garden below lent a sugary tinge to the air and it added to the already inebriating atmosphere.  
Stiles could hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.  
“It’s… stunning,” he whispered as he angled it towards the candlelight. The sexual energy of the piece made him blush at first sight, and now he couldn’t take his eyes off it. In fact, the dusky rose ran up his neck to suffuse his face. For some reason their intimacy translated into color made his body burn in remembrance.  
  
“Do you really like it? I thought we could hang it here in the bedroom.” Klaus inquired with a tilt to his head. His voice was low, coated in heat as if the words were dipped in rhum and set aflame.  
Klaus rarely felt nervous, but the significance of what was about to transpire was making his limbs slightly tremble.  
The second canvas still in his grasp quivered.  
  
“I do. It’s absolutely gorgeous. When did you paint it?”  
Klaus was glad of the semidarkness that hid the flush in his cheeks. “Last week. For our six-month-“  
“Anniversary…” Stiles finished for him, gazing up at him with stars sparkling in his umber eyes. “You remembered.”  
“Of course I remembered, darling. I could never forget the day my life changed forever. I wanted to give you this after our dinner, but I just couldn’t wait.”  
  
A knot tightened in Klaus’ belly and his throat felt parched. The declaration was on the tip of his tongue, all he had to do was…  
Stiles leaned in, breathing a kiss against his lips. “I love you, Klaus. I can’t believe how quickly time has gone by here. It’s… I guess that being so happy makes me forget how tortuously slow days felt when I was miserable. When I didn’t _have you_.”  
  
THIS was the perfect moment. It had to happen now. Klaus bent his face towards Stiles’, the hold on the other painting increasing in pressure as he lifted it to their laps.  
“You’ll never have to worry about that, love. I’m always going to be here by your side. _Always and forever_.”   
  
Stiles swallowed hard, for he’d learned the weight of those words, what they meant to the Mikaelsons. His attention dropped to what Klaus had just placed before them in an attempt to change the subject.   
“What’s this? Another painting?”  
“Yes, my love. This one, however, I painted two weeks before meeting you in Beacon Hills.”  
  
When he tugged the wrapping off, the fabric dropped to the floor, intense astonishment touching Stiles’ expression.  
 _It was he and Klaus sitting together on a lush Bordeaux love seat, hands intertwined. They were both impeccably dressed, with sincere smiles creasing their visages.  
_ That’s when the words moved to comprehension **. I painted it two weeks before meeting you in Beacon Hills.** The tiny plaque on the frame read "Stiles and Klaus."  
  
“Wait!” Stiles exclaimed, meeting Klaus’ probing stare. “How could you have painted this without having met me?” There was a lilt of incredulity in the question.  
“It’s...it’s an incredible painting, Klaus,” Stiles stammered on. “Please, don’t get me wrong, this shows extreme skill and talent, and it’s hauntingly beautiful. But how could you know what I looked like?”  
  
Something in the painting appealed to the most primal part of him. Stiles needed to understand, though, what this all meant, because a voice inside him nagged that there was a huge piece he was missing- and an important one at that.  
The corners of Klaus’ mouth turned up into a grin. Stiles was intrigued and not frightened, which was the best outcome he could have hoped for. This feral part to him, it was the most attractive trait Stiles had. He had the heart of a truth seeker, a natural curiosity to him.   
It was sweet and enticing at the same time, this thirst. But there was a question that had yet to be asked, and Klaus for once wasn’t sure how he was going to introduce it without scaring his lover half to death.

Stiles’ body shivered a bit; Klaus noticed it and reached out to take his hand. He was being extremely serious, and even if he was used to being solemn at times, this discussion had a very different vibe.

“Do you remember what I told you about my half-sister Freya? That she had had the ability to get visions, and therefore, predict the future?”

Freya Mikaelson was a powerful witch, enchantress of blond hair and green eyes; she was Klaus’ half-sister with an almost detrimental loyalty to family. How could Stiles forget?!  
“I do, she seemed to have been very gifted.”  
“She was” - answered Klaus, a shadow pulling a curtain over his enthusiasm for just a brief moment. “She helped me with a...very personal issue that I had had.”

“Go on,” Stiles squeezed back.

There were memories and regrets in the air that could have been cut with a knife. It was not in Klaus’ nature to be this level of… bewildering. He looked... almost ashamed.  
Klaus’ words were softly spoken and his body language made him look oddly frail. That was definitely something that Stiles was not used to seeing, even if Klaus allowed himself to be vulnerable with him more than with anyone else.

“Long ago, before you, my love. I... was engaged to someone. Her name was Caroline.”

As a partner could not be especially happy to endure a tale about an ex, Stiles made an effort for Klaus and remained silent.

“Our relationship had progressed. She was a brave, courageous woman who brought me out of my misery. And yet the entire time we were together my soul suffered a void. It just never felt… right.”  
Stiles nodded in understanding. The story had taken a different turn, and he couldn’t see how this could possibly be related to Freya or the painting. But he continued to lend an ear.

“Turns out, we reached the point of engagement. And I thought I was happy, despite the voice in the back of my mind that told me my life was meant to be something entirely different. She was sweet and caring, don’t get me wrong. I wanted nothing more than for our love to be genuine love. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t, Stiles.”  
Stiles felt that his heart had just stopped beating. Again. Klaus had a way of bringing him to the brink of sweet death just by loving him.  
Perhaps… perhaps it was what might have been fated for him all along, he thought.

“One day Freya came to me in a dream. There were times when she channelled me- used me as a sort of vessel. She told me about the future – about _our_ future together, Stiles. My sister showed me the vision. And it completely blew my mind that I saw a different person in it. It was a brown-haired russet-eyed man from a place no where near here.”

Stiles blinked, his features frozen, not being able to swallow all this information at once.

“I saw YOU, Stiles. I saw this balcony. This silk. And...everything in between.” Klaus stood up and knelt in front of Stiles, careful of not touching him yet.

“I...don’t know what to say. This is not the most...common love story. Are we… are we fated to be together? I don’t understand.” Stiles had a habit of freaking out about stupid things, and yet he found himself strangely calm.   
Klaus returned the most gentle of nods as he gripped his knees. 

“Yes my love. Freya’s predictions are always right. She had shown me what you looked like and had given me a name. That was it. I spent weeks using a private investigator trying to find you. I needed to know if you existed.”  
“And what happened with Caroline?” Stiles whispered, perspiration making his shirt stick to his back.  
“We broke up. It wasn’t amicable… at first. But now we’re friends once more. She lives in a place called Mystic Falls.”  
  
Klaus took a pause. He was terrified of Stiles’ reaction towards all this new information, but he seemed to be taking it surprisingly well, processing it with due attention.  
“What happened after that, Klaus?”

“After she and I ended it, I asked Freya to show me that vision of you again. I decided that it was time to finally find and meet this mysterious human who had been destined to be my love. Luckily you weren’t called John Smith, Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

Stiles’ thumb carefully touched the corner of the painting's frame. It seemed so dry and brittle, so unlike the lively nature of their relationship. Yet weren’t all Mikaelson secrets rooted in the wisdom of the ages?

“No one’s called me that in years. So… that’s how you found me in Beacon Hills.”

“Yes, that is how, my love. I’m sorry if this sounds like deception, Stiles. I assure you it wasn’t. It was the act of a desperate man who wanted nothing else than to meet the love of his life.”  
  
 _The love of his life._ Those words sent electricity through Stiles.  
“I knew that I would find you at that bar in Beacon eventually so I staked out the parking lot. With the help of the information gathered, I understood your habits. I started to know you without having to know you. Even the fact that people mistook that Kraken tattoo for a dragon one.”

Stiles sighed. As ridiculous as all this sounded… it somehow made sense. Whether or not he wanted to deny it, he had felt an immediate draw to Klaus that day. And it went beyond him being walking sex.  
That was the first time Stiles had ever given himself to a stranger in a bathroom… _something_ had pushed him to trust that much, and it wasn't just being mad at Derek.  
Perhaps this whole fate thing wasn’t bullshit.  
  
“That day Derek stood me up… you were waiting. Saw I was alone.”  
A tiny lift to Klaus’ brow gave him confirmation. Stiles didn’t shun it, he leaned in. Closer to Klaus.  
“I took a chance he wouldn’t show up. Had the PI outside his apartment, he was playing a video game and looked like there was no possibility of him going out. I risked it. It could have gone very well… or horribly. I’ll let you decide how it went, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles didn’t really need to mull things over. He’d never been happier. And even if Klaus had arrived to achieving their union in what could have been defined as “questionable means”… Stiles didn’t care. Every cell in his body was telling him this was right… this was the man for him.   
Klaus was his fate.   
  
“It went incredibly well,” Stiles said just above a whisper. He reached out, cupping Klaus’ bearded cheek. “This was the best thing to have ever happened to me, Klaus. All I want is you.”  
  
That was all Klaus needed to hear. From his position he extracted a ring box from his pocket. It was blood red velvet with a silver clasp. Stiles’ jaw dropped when Klaus popped it open, his hands immediately clasping over his mouth.  
“Oh my God, are you??“  
  
“Stiles, you are my one true love. I’d give my life for you. I can't imagine my life without you. Will you please do me the enormous honor of marrying me? Allow me to hang our portrait in our gallery, sealing officially your entrance into my family, into my life?”

It was a beautiful band he held betwixt his digits. It looked like ancient, like it had been forged centuries earlier. (Like a family heirloom his brother Elijah might have had in safekeeping, having brought him upon request).   
Stiles failed to mention that. Left out that he'd been vetted at his family's favorite bar. Stiles said nothing about Elijah period because Klaus probably already knew all of it.   
  
So the question hung between them like paper lanterns... beautiful and fragile at the same time. Stiles was taking too long to reply... the look of terror in Klaus' gaze wasn't right. He woke from his shock and hastened to tell him, reveal to him what'd he'd been pondering for days now.   
It wasn't what Klaus was expecting to hear.   
"Klaus..."   
Stiles could think of nothing else but growing old while Klaus remained the same. A life of grey hair to his love's dark blond. Martinis and Mardis Gras to Stiles' Metamucil and adult diapers.  
His deathbed... with a Klaus who still breathed youth and vitality and vibrant need for novelty... weeping over his love's imminent demise?!  
No.  
That couldn't happen. That wouldn't happen. Whether it would be Klaus or someone else to perform the rite... Stiles would become a vampire.   
  
“I can’t marry you, Klaus,” Stiles replied. The words immediately crushed his lover, who seemed to shrink into his shadow.   
"Wha... what do you mean, Stiles?" The ring box quivered in his hands.   
  
It wasn’t until Stiles opened his mouth once more that the King of New Orleans didn't spring up- ears perked to attention.   
“I can’t marry you unless you turn me. Eternity means being with you, Klaus, and not a calculated term in human years where you watch me wither away. You’re the love of my life. You’re the one I want to be with, even Freya saw it. _Al_ _ways and forever,_ Klaus. So please... turn me. Allow me the privilege of being by your side forever. Let me make this sacrifice in the name of our love." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In three chapters... the event to end all events. The Mikaelson-Stilinski wedding! Some friends drive out from California as well to support Stiles.


	6. First times and Melancholy Returns: NOLA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on his way to meet Stiles at the Mikaelson compound, a distracted Scott McCall is nearly knocked over by a man leaving Rousseau's.  
> Marcel Gerard is back in town and very eager to show Scott the way to his father's manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the little differences to make this story work :) Two more chapters I've decided and we get the big wedding!

_“Shadows settle on the place that you left  
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness…_

_And if you’re still breathing, you’re the lucky ones  
‘Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs  
Setting fire to our insides for fun  
Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong… the lovers that went wrong”_

_  
  
 _ **One year after Klaus proposed...**_  
  
Scott McCall had never been to New Orleans before, so as his feet hit the sizzling pavement, and the torrid air licked his gilded skin, he immediately felt inebriated by the unusual atmosphere.  
It was that time of day where the duality of lives intersected. People were still out walking their dogs; families pushed strollers as they window shopped, but the bustle of the retail businesses’ activities had wound down to prepare for the evening closure. Couples with their arms hooked walked along in search of the perfect place to grab a drink or have a bite, the arch of their palms pressed against hot glass windows to have a quick survey inside.  
  
As Scott made his way down the main street, he took it all in. It was as exotic and intoxicating a location as he’d imagined. As soon as he’d abandoned his rental car in the French Quarter Riverside Parking Lots, his gaze bent to the maps app open on his phone.  
He wouldn’t have to walk far to get to the manor where Stiles was now residing. In the meantime, though, he didn’t mind having a look at where this trip had landed him.  
Scott took off in the correct direction, looking from afar like a child in a toy store as he spun around to take in all the sights.  
  
It was like nothing he’d ever seen. (Granted, the only places he’d ever traveled to were Mexico and California, so coming to NOLA was quite a change for him).   
His dark eyes flickered from one store front to the next, the muffled sounds of trumpet jazz and bass beats vibrating along the gentle evening breeze from the open doors of the drinking establishments.  
It had a sultry feel to it, this quarter, with its dim fairy lights and the European lamp posts. All the low constructions with their gorgeous balconies were a proud architecture.  
Even though in spots some corners reeked of stale air and booze, mostly his deep breaths picked up on the scent of musky and sticky sweet flora that abounded from the lush gardens and parks.  
  
It was a drowsy place in feel, he concluded. Almost a trickster’s spell, lulling one into a lazy rhythm only to discover that its spirit never really slept.  
  
As he continued down the promenade, the dot on his lit map crawling closer to his destination, he realized just how unmindful he was of what was to come. Scott had wagered a guess as to what all this was about and hadn’t yet decided how much he needed to worry. Until he met Stiles in person he wouldn’t know for sure if he’d hedged his bets correctly.  
For the moment he proceeded with a reigned-in caution, trying to keep his heart light.  
  
Stiles had given Beacon Hills plenty to gossip about when he’d taken off abruptly (only to basically never return). And that was 18 months ago.  
His friend’s reasons for moving to New Orleans were mostly confirmed rumors now.  
It was no secret: Derek Hale had broken his heart. A bartender at Stonehenge had later mentioned how Stiles had gotten stood up one winter evening, only to meet “a handsome stranger who spoke with a British accent.” Word around town was he had wooed Stiles with his charms (and not only).  
When the Sheriff confirmed that Stiles had permanently relocated to Louisiana about 3 months after disappearing, he added that his son collected some belongings under the cover of night.  
Noah let him go with little more than a hug and what he got in return as an explanation was a “Love you, Dad, Please don’t worry about me. I’ll explain everything and we'll see each other soon.”   
Two plus two is what everyone figured: he was so devastated by the breakup he needed to leave the state to forget Derek. Everyone who knew and cared about Stiles hoped he’d found love, or at least a distraction, in NOLA.  
  
It was quite a shock for Scott when two weeks prior to today Stiles had called him. With a mysterious tone he’d insisted Scott come to New Orleans so he could relay some important news. Informed him he should plan on staying a week if his schedule permitted.  
The “best” in best friend weighed tremendously upon his shoulders in that moment. Scott would not let Stiles down, whatever this was about he would show on the day requested.  
(Not to mention that his and everyone else’s curiosity back home circa the Stiles tea would have driven him mad).

If Stiles planned on telling him his announcement only in person, Scott had no choice but to oblige. He boarded a plane from Sacramento when the day rolled around and 6 hours later… here he was.  
  
It was all this musing about past events that cluttered his mind. His focus had shifted to the phone in his clutches and the moving blue circle on Google maps.  
As Scott was about to take the corner, noting with some excitement that he was getting closer to the manor, a red door swung open right beside him. From the corner of his eye he saw movement, and a shadow crashed into him, making him drop his cell.  
“Oh shit, man, I'm sorry,” apologized a deep voice.  
  
Scott had already bent down to retrieve it. His gaze immediately darted up from the expensive shoes grazing the tips of his sneakers... to the face to whom belonged the fingers clasped over his own.  
The glow from the sign “Rousseau’s” bloomed over the man’s dark cheek. Whoever this was, Christ he was gorgeous! It had been a minute since someone managed to take his breath away with one smile.   
It took that one glance, though, and a shy caress between them for the unspoken recognition of their species to make the men stiffen.  
 _Werewolf,_ hissed the man in his mind's voice.  
Scott froze in place: _Vampire._  
One sized the other up briefly, nostrils flaring, and when neither sensed outright hostility, the stranger’s grip over Scott’s hand loosened. The cool of his touch remained, though, as if an ice cube had slid across his knuckles. It wasn't entirely... unpleasant, Scott mused.   
  
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Scott stammered, raking his fingers through his curls with a shaky hand. Holding up his phone as proof, he managed a poor excuse. “Not from around here.”  
Scott felt anxious all of a sudden. He held his breath as he scrambled to his feet, and the other man followed suit.  
  
The handsome local squared his broad shoulders, fixing the hem of his shirt as he put to memory this wolf's features. Not half bad... for a dog.  
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Well welcome to New Orleans, then.”  
Something in the glint of his espresso eyes changed, and he tilted his head to study the newcomer before him better. Or rather… to appreciate him further.  
  
Unable to drag himself from the man’s ebony almond eyes, Scott shifted from foot to foot, desperate to find his words. He was absolutely transfixed by the way he was being ogled.   
Those depthless orbs roved over his body like lover’s hands.  
Scott coughed, and he reddened violently, embarrassed by the slow scrutiny.   
  
“I should apologize,” the man finally uttered, sticking out his hand. “I need to learn to step out of doors with more caution. My name is Marcel, by the way. Marcel Gerard.”  
“Scott McCall. And no problem. No harm done.”  
  
The faint smile Marcel carried built slowly into a broad grin. Their handshake was lingering, and when they realized it, the men reluctantly let go. Scott subconsciously thrust out his muscular chest, his tongue darting out to touch his lips. What the hell was he doing? He wasn't here to flirt!   
  
“Since you seem preoccupied with getting somewhere, I’ll extend my invitation for a drink for tomorrow evening? Are you staying in New Orleans that long?”  
Jesus, Scott thought as he swallowed hard. This guy didn’t waste any time! Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself nodding. Something in his chest fluttered.  
“I am. I’m staying a week, I guess. I’d… I’d love to.”  
  
“Excellent,” Marcel replied, closing the space between them. Scott noticed he smelled like amber... and singed oak. How unusual.  
“If you kindly pass me your phone, I’ll put in my number.”  
Scott almost dropped it as he fumbled with sweaty hands to place it on his open palm. That’s when Marcel’s eye caught the destination address written in the maps app, and he perked up.  
  
“Is this where you’re headed?” He was squinting now, his lips slightly agape.  
“Yeah, why? Do you know where it is? I think it’s nearby.”  
An eyebrow raised, Marcel shifted inches from Scott's face. “Who do you know there? This is a family manor. An _old_ family.”  
  
“My friend lives there now, with a man he’s been with. I’m visiting him, he asked me to come.” What was with all the questions?   
  
Marcel softened his tone when he saw Scott's jaw lock. He repeated what was said, less intensely this time, his long lashes batting in wonder (and with a little come hitherness to them).  
“Your friend lives with a man who resides there? What are their names?” This must be what Klaus had wanted to talk to him about, Marcel thought immediately.  
  
Scott answered plainly, not understanding the man’s sudden interest. “Stiles Stilinski. He’s together with a man named Klaus Mikaelson.”  
  
 _Klaus Mikaelson._ This must have been his father’s lover that Cami had told him about. Marcel nodded slowly, pulling on Scott’s sleeve as the grin morphed into a simper. Marcel's scent hit Scott again and he swore under his breath.   
“Come with me, friend," Marcel invited with a wag to his head. "It happens to be where I’m headed, as chance would have it. I was just saying hello to an old… acquaintance at the bar before I moved on. Guess we might end up having that drink sooner than we thought, Scott. My father’s got quite the fully stocked bar.”

Scott did a double take. “Your father? Who’s your father?”  
Nudging him, and afterwards deciding he would be completely okay with pressing his body against this werewolf’s, Marcel slinked his potent arm around Scott’s slim waist and pulled him close.  
Scott stifled a whimper- he'd never been this close to a vampire before, and it was intoxicating.   
  
Flitting his attention between Scott’s confused but enticed gaze and the wolf’s luscious lips, Marcel whispered in his ear, tickling it: “Oh, sweetheart, have I got a story for you. Unfortunately, it will take a lot longer than the walk we have remaining. Just means I'll have to convince you to dine with me after we're done with our affairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued interest in this story! love you guys!  
> Lyrics at the beginning are from the song by Daughter called Youth. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QT5eGHCJdE  
> It always takes me to a place of musing.


	7. Two Hookups- Two More Proposals- And An Unwanted Visitor - Part 1 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott is kindly invited to stay at Marcel's while he's in New Orleans. Someone makes an unexpected appearance at Rousseau's.

Scott wasn’t prepared for the splendor of Marcel’s expansive mansion. Being honest with his reflection as it stared back at him in the French mirror hanging above the mantel, he hadn’t been ready in mind or body for any of what had already transpired today.  
Shocking would have been an understatement.  
  
Such were the unexpected series of events and revelations that transported him to this moment, that his very presence in the vampire’s lush living room didn’t surprise him in the slightest.  
As Marcel went to fetch some drinks, Scott was busy trying to collect his jaw off the floor. The beauty of the lavish palace his host called home was overwhelming- just adding to the flavor the day had had.  
Rubbing at the back of his head, Scott marveled at how his reality had changed in twelve hours.  
_  
  
“I would be ashamed of myself if I let you stay in a hotel,” Marcel had said after they took their leave from the Mikaelson’s. Sliding a muscular arm around Scott’s broad shoulders, he had nudged him close and shook him gently in encouragement. “I promised you a long story, Dr. McCall, so please have drinks and dinner with me? We’ll get your stuff and bring it to mine and then head off once we’ve freshened up?”  
  
Not in the mood to impose on Stiles and Klaus the same evening, and with the promise of seeing them for lunch the following day to discuss further details, Scott would have accepted the offer even if he hadn’t found the vampire alluring and intoxicatingly sexy.  
  
“If you’re sure I won’t be a burden,” he’d answered with a hopeful lilt, fighting back a shiver of arousal when Marcel’s reply was to trail a finger down towards his open collar.  
Scott swallowed hard at the fixed gaze that suggested more than a bed and a shower- and Marcel was clearly exploring the openness to that possibility in every tiny twitch of Scott’s face.  
“Burdens are entirely other things, my friend. I don’t welcome just anyone to my home, so know that I mean it.”  
_  
Jesus Christ._ Is this how they did things in New Orleans? Scott had asked himself.  
Marcel was obviously at home in his persona, not to mention his sexuality, and this only made Scott’s interest in him heighten. He was a far cry from his exes back in Beacon Hills, or the mundane men he had met while at Davis. That Scott was currently single was a huge testament to that.

“Then I accept,” he’d answered almost too quickly. “It would be rude if I didn’t, right?” The crooked grin and flutter to his long lashes had made Marcel a little weak in the knees.  
“It would be. You don’t want me taking offense now, do you?”  
Two could play at the seduction game, Marcel had mused, as he led his guest towards the house.  
Scott had to dry his damp hand down his leg as they went, (which also conveniently hid its tremor). Shortly after, without the slightest warning, Marcel had laced their fingers together, prompting the corners of Scott’s mouth to curl.  
_  
  
The space, for what little he knew of Marcel Gerard in the few hours he’d spent in his company, was very much _him.  
_Not as regal nor heavily laden with history and memories as the Mikaelson manor, the estate boasted wealth but with more refined taste and a touch of modernity.  
As they took their walk through the grounds before entering its walls, the flowers cresting as proudly out of the dirt as their owner was in showing them off, Marcel explained that he’d owned this property for nearly a hundred and twenty years. It had survived wars both supernatural and not and harbored a special place in his heart.  
No one would have guessed its age, Scott thought. Despite Marcel’s lengthy absences from New Orleans with his residing in New York City, everything within and without was immaculately maintained by someone Scott presumed they never saw.  
  
The magnificence was no different indoors. Every object Scott was perusing was hand-selected by Marcel, that much was obvious. From the simple bevelled mirror in which he’d glimpsed himself earlier, to the blood red Davenport-style sofa opposite the marble fireplace. The lamp beside it, with a gilded and red Crab shade covered in heavy metallic Victorian lace and cut velvet, was another nod to the Art déco style of the 1920s. (Probably one of Marcel’s favourite periods, Scott guessed).  
  
He moved around the room’s contours with calculated steps, taking in the atmosphere and fingering the occasional knick knack with the delicacy he afforded his surgeries.   
There was no doubt about it: this place WAS Marcel.  
The air within trapped the scent that lingered on his skin and carried with it the breath of his laughter. Even the overturned book on the settee in the corner brought to Scott’s mind a vision of a relaxed Marcel draped over its arch, the book cradled in his large palms as he read.  
  
In fact, one entire wall was dedicated to bookshelves that reached well over Scott’s head and even farther; he had to crane his neck to see their end at the vaulted ceiling. Marcel had stacked older pieces of art against the corners, most covered by dust tarps.  
The grand piano that dominated the room’s center and the vast variety of antique books on the shelves, collected no doubt over Marcel’s lifetime, were confirmation that perhaps he favored literature and music over the visual arts.  
Scott bent his head to read some titles when Marcel’s voice startled him from his observations.

“Do you like them? My books, I mean.”

“Oh, I’m just…” he paused, turning on his heel. “They’re beautiful. Everything here is. I wasn’t much of a reader when I was in high school, but then I buckled down. Realized I’d never become a vet if I didn’t learn to study. Now I love books.”

Marcel handed Scott a champagne glass, the bubbles dancing against the flute’s surface. He hummed in understanding, a deep rumble in his throat. “I see. Well, it’s never too late, right? I wasn’t a learned man, either. As you know.” His past had come up over their dinner. Scott knew as much as he could learn in two hours of Marcel's and the Mikaelson family’s histories.  
“It’s never too late, in fact,” Scott agreed.  
  
Brushing a finger over one of the bindings in a gesture of near worship, Marcel's passion for the written word reflected in his tender gaze. He pulled a Shakespeare anthology and lifted it towards Scott.  
“Once my Uncle Elijah taught me how to read, I couldn’t stop. The world opened itself to me like a marvelous dream come to life. First in Shakespeare’s plays, then in all the rest of the classics. I was lucky to read most of them as they came out.”  
  
Wow... Marcel never pretended to be anything more than what he was, Scott realized in that moment. His duplicity struck a chord in him; how Marcel could be so intimidating and yet so much more approachable than most men he’d encountered was beyond Scott’s comprehension.  
The vampire was gorgeous, no one would deny that, but his genuine beauty was in his perfect, giving soul. (At least to Scott).  
“I think you’re remarkable,” the wolf admitted before he could stop himself.  
  
Marcel felt his face heat. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments, especially of late.  
“I happen to think the same of you. It’s not common for a friend to show up in a city unknown to him, at the behest of his best friend. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, and yet here you are. You haven’t freaked out, you haven’t run back to California now that you know almost everything.”

This statement seemed to surprise Scott, made him wonder what kind of people Marcel had had in his life for him to think this didn’t fall under normal friendship territory. “You don’t have someone who’d do the same for you?”

Marcel filled the hollow in the bookshelf, replacing the tome with care. The emptiness in his heart, however, would never be filled so easily again. “I did once. His name was Josh.”  
Blinking back sudden scalding tears, Marcel turned his face away. He emptied the flute in one gulp, setting it down on the nearby table. “But if you don’t mind, Scott, I don’t want to talk about sad things right now.”  
  
_His name was Josh._ Scott got it- especially after today. A vampire had to get used to losing those around him who didn’t benefit from eternal life- or a pardon for transgressions.  
Come to think of it, Scott also didn’t want to dwell on that. It was hitting too close to home.  
Deciding he didn’t want to pry further, Scott shook off his melancholy and swirled his drink. Aware of a sudden lump in his throat at the display of emotions, he too drank down his glass and set it next to Marcel’s. “I’m not here to discuss the past.”  
  
Two digits reached out tentatively and grazed Scott’s. Marcel bent his wet gaze, looking at the wolf with eyes that made him flare in desire.  
“Why are you here, Scott?” Marcel clasped his hand fully over his, squeezing just enough. “Is it for a place to rest your head, or something more?” The question was barely above a whisper.

Scott didn’t need to hear a heartbeat to know. He noticed Marcel’s attention running down the line of his body. Such naked longing. He could smell the loneliness on him.   
He jutted his chin out, ignoring Marcel’s controlled yet darkened expression at the sight of his jugular. He pointedly stared, feet shifting over the marble flooring, inching him towards the vampire. “We both know that’s not why I accepted your invitation, Marcel.” 

Marcel’s body ached with the promise of fulfillment. Pupils blown, the heat rippled under his skin in a flush he hadn’t felt for years. “You know, Scott, that this house has a legend?”  
At his words, Marcel slowly advanced. Scott was hurtled past the point of return.  
“What legend is that?” he managed with a shaky voice, licking his thirsty lips.  
  
A finger came up to tug a piece of Scott’s hair back behind his ear. Marcel leaned forward as if to kiss him, but halted. He never thought he'd find a werewolf so attractive, let alone invite one to sleep with him in his home.   
Perhaps I'm getting soft in my old age, he mused.   
  
Scott wanted nothing else than to yield to the burning sweetness captive within his host.  
“There were two men who met here. A vampire and a werewolf.” He was backing Scott into the bookshelf, bumping his elbow when he turned his face into his long neck.  
"And?" Scott stuttered.  
“They fell in love," Marcel continued, pressing a kiss into his palm. "But immediately their relationship was tested. Our species have never been encouraged to mix.”  
  
Abandoning himself to the whirl of sensations, Scott found his courage. Drawing Marcel closer, firmly, he anchored one hand on his forearm. “And did they get together?” he asked in an indistinct voice, their black eyes meeting.  
Marcel huffed out a breath and it blew steamy against his cheek, sending a shiver down Scott’s spine. He glided his nose down the man's jawline, moving his tongue slowly across his gaping mouth.  
Scott poorly stifled a mewl, a new thrill freeing itself within him.   
  
“They did. To hell with forbidden love, they’d said. _The men became lovers by night and dreamers by day_.” With a soft sigh, Marcel settled his mouth on Scott's.   
It was all like a siren song.   
  
“Marcel…” Scott broke, his fingers warm and strong as they grasped soft flesh.  
“Scott-”  
“Marcel… I... I want...”  
  
An arm encircled him, one hand at the small of Scott’s back. Their hardened sexes pressed together as the contours of their bodies molded.  
Scott caught that perfume again… singed wood and amber. As if the centuries had caught up with him and had infused his cells with the most primal of scents.   
It called to something ancestral in Scott.

It was all he could do not to beg. Scott couldn’t stop imagining the feeling of sharp teeth piercing his skin and the irresistible pleasure that must have come from the bite. He felt the sudden urge to give in to his curiosity- and to surrender to the man able to satisfy it. As if he were reading his mind, Marcel’s virile nearness welcomed Scott with open arms.  
  
“Would you like me to bite you?” A hand unbuttoned Scott’s shirt, the fingers icy but the palm fiery hot as the words dripped from his lips. "I wouldn't turn you, sweetheart. Just a taste."   
“Yes,” Scott admitted with no hesitation, his erection throbbing against Marcel’s and the rushing blood a bass drum in his ears. 

Soft lips brushed against his supple skin. Scott shivered in anticipation, fists bunching into the fabric of Marcel’s sweater.  
“ _Your wish is my command._ ”  
  
And all at once, there it was. Marcel's lips clamped down and his fangs dug into Scott’s neck, sending at first a searing pain, but then a surge of _something._ Jesus Christ, if Scott had had orgasms before, nothing compared to this. He lost all reason.  
Scott moaned in ecstasy, unabashed in his laments. Tilting his head back and gripping Marcel’s wrist with a tight hold, the muscles bulging under his shirt, he beseeched more.  
  
Marcel felt Scott’s free hand hook into his belt, slipping some fingers behind the waistline as the arch of his palm cupped over his cock. He tugged him even closer as the other drank, letting himself collapse into the shelf while Marcel held him up with an ever warmer hand on his lower back.

"Fuck, Marcel..." Scott was literally whimpering, and he wasn’t sure how long they’d stayed like that, letting his lover take what he needed as he gave Scott exactly what he wanted.   
Eventually, Marcel pulled away, lips painted a cherry-red and eyes blown wide open.  
  
“Scott,” Marcel sibilated, looking down at Scott’s neck where blood had spilled onto the collar of his shirt. The life serum coursing through him only fueled his yearning. The pounding in Scott’s chest increased in intensity, its thrumming was driving Marcel insane.  
  
Scott leaned there, legs unsteady. He glanced at his fingers, covered in his own blood, where he'd touched the marks instinctively after Marcel had detached. Grabbing his wrist, he forced Scott's lips open, thrusting the coppery fingertips in to make him taste himself.  
The Alpha wolf took over from there.  
  
The last thing Scott remembered was the sensuous glide of Marcel’s tongue, their kiss tasting of iron and spruce. The cruel ravishment of their mouths couldn't be contained any more than their lust.  
In a frenzy of need, clothes were ripped to shreds. Lips closed around cocks, hands separating thighs and mouths probing. Marcel’s eyes drew Scott in like the open sky before they both collapsed to the hard floor in a writhing mass of limbs.  
  
_  
  
Not too far away, Rousseau's was bustling. Cami was dashing to and fro, pouring shots and preparing cocktails. When she had a free moment, she chatted with Kol, who sat near the center of the counter in his usual spot. Most of the patrons were vampires at this late hour, the darkness being their time to shine, especially for the night walkers.   
Kol was close to getting up and making a phone call when the door swung open and a tall, robust man entered.   
No. Not a man... _a werewolf_. All the vampires smelled the musk immediately.   
The entire placed hushed a few decibels as he took his first steps in. Everyone looked to Kol from under hooded lids, seeking direction. He wagged his head to keep things going normally. It was obvious whoever this person was, he wasn't from NOLA. Perhaps he didn't know any better and had wandered in for a quick drink.  
  
No need to alarm the troops just yet, Kol thought. Taking the empty place next to him, the man slid onto the stool, dragging his eyes over the handsome vampire to his right. Cami shot Kol an amused look with a side of smirk. Placing a napkin down in front of the stranger, she asked her normal question. "What can I get ya?" It came out overly perky to compensate for her sudden nervousness.   
The man looked up and grinned, fingering the edge of the paper. His chartreuse eyes bore into her and for a moment he took her breath away (before she remembered what he was, that is).  
"Whiskey. Neat. And some information if you're willing to help a guy out?"  
  
Kol nursed the melted ice in his glass, looking forward but obviously listening to every word.  
"Sure thing, sweetheart," Cami sung as she pushed the tumbler towards him. "What do you need to know?"  
Lifting the rim to his cerise lips, tipping the glass enough to dab some liquor onto his tongue, he replied, "Do you happen to know where the Mikaelson manor is?"  
  
Cami could have won an Oscar for disguising her shock. Kol tipped his dark head in the voice's direction and inserted himself into the conversation. "Pretty old family. They're well known in New Orleans."   
Looking over, happy to be getting the guy's attention, the patron's face split into a dazzling smile. "Good to know. I've got some business there."   
"Really?" Every neuron was firing inside him. NOW he was alarmed.  
Kol leaned over, extending a hand. "Name's Kol. Yours?"  
"Derek. Nice to meet you," he offered, shaking Kol's firmly.  
"So Derek, humor a chap. What, if I may ask, is this business?"  
  
Straightening his shoulders, almost a foolish curl to his mouth, Derek confessed to the worst person he could have chosen. "Here to get my ex back. Maybe stop a wedding." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please forgive any changes I've made to make the story work. 
> 
> I'm currently on holiday so I apologize for the delay in updates across the board. I'll update TW as much as my free time will permit, promise it won't be too long.  
> Thank you as always for reading and supporting this story, I truly am humbled by the love you've shown it.


	8. Angel of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after Klaus proposes, in order to settle his affairs and tell his father in person the decision he's made, Stiles takes a month's hiatus from New Orleans, returning to Beacon Hills.  
> When on Louisiana soil once more, he discovers Klaus has a truly magnificent surprise waiting for him. Though they have not planned on a date to do the siring rite, the evening Stiles finds himself back in his lover's arms evolves into such an emotional reunion that he asks Klaus to turn him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I wasn't planning on writing "the turn," I was just going to skip ahead to the wedding and have it be done. But then I thought of how wonderfully supportive you've all been, and how decisive that step is to this story. Thus, though it's taken me nearly a week to get this chapter almost as I'd like it to be (problems with internet here in the mountains not helping the process), I am happy with the decision to have written it for you. It only made sense that Stiles would explain something so pivotal to his father in person, and that as close as Klaus and Stiles are, a month apart for them would have been excruciating. I hope you like it.

He’d only just stepped out of Rousseau’s when Stiles was beckoned by the brash and sweet croon of a trumpet. The musician followed in a voice just as jovial, evenly pitched.  
“Hey! Come on, gorgeous, let us play you a song. We play all the right notes,” he emphasized with a wink and another pleasing trill, encouraged by his friends in the roving band.  
Stiles, decked out in a perfectly tailored black suit and light wool coat, stood out whether he wanted to or not.  
Tall and lean, he was a man of unique beauty, so it was no surprise he got noticed. Those who didn’t know him by now, especially tourists, would turn on their heels to catch a second look. But no local, (even with his month-long recent absence), would have trouble recognizing the Prince of New Orleans.  
  
Feeling the vibration in his pocket as he tried to gather his thoughts, the brass band standing before him continued their rendition of “Blue Velvet” despite his nervous shifting.  
Struggling to see, Stiles moved under a street lamp to read the text more clearly. It’s there that his freshly cut hair caught its glow, accentuated by the fairy lights that lined the street and illuminated the store windows.  
It was past Christmas but before the New Year, and all the decorations were still adorning Bourbon Street and the French Quarter.  
The sheen bled into the mahogany depths of his locks, which radiated out through the apricot glow of his skin, freshly kissed by the California sun.  
His moles and a handful of freckles were just a gentle spraying across his cheeks and nose, yet they framed his cupid-bow-shaped lips perfectly.  
Despite this natural beauty, it was Stiles’ eyes that always hooked anyone who saw him-- large ovals, honey comb tinged. He had a gaze which suggested the promise of untold pleasures, truths, and adventures, and a thirst for all things that others considered forbidden. This is what he was told back home, anyway. That being with Klaus “had changed him.”  
  
Yes, those eyes had left many victims in their wake, last of which a brooding werewolf. If gossip spoke truth, he was still forlorn and broken-hearted over Stiles’ sudden departure. (Ridiculous, Stiles thought, since it had been Derek himself who’d ended things in a fit of dissatisfaction and insecurity).  
Regardless, the voices that murmured behind curved palms during his hiatus in Beacon were true: living in New Orleans had changed Stiles Stilinski. He’d come back more confident, sexier, and certainly better dressed. What sweeter revenge against the sourwolf who’d dumped him without so much as a text?  
  
So buyer beware, Stiles’ warning label should have read: anyone who tripped upon those umber flares finished feeling lost and yet entirely found.  
Ready to surrender. (Thus, no one could blame the trumpeter for taking his chances with him through his melody).  
Stiles’s stoic, lovely face turned into a coy little smile when he was called upon once more. “Cutie, got a request? We know the whole American songbook!”  
The trumpeter was very tall, handsome, with coffee skin and a smile that lit up his face- and it was all for Stiles. In another time, in another life, the new Stiles would have loved to hear his song. (And perhaps might have gifted him some carnal pleasure in return). Alas…  
  
“Sorry, Charlie,” he remarked with a phrase from his Dad’s childhood as he watched the car that had been preannounced by the text pull up along the bar. Nodding to the vehicle, he let the modern troubadour down gently.  
“Someone else is already playing my song, sweetheart, and he knows all the right fingerings.”  
The band members laughed at the quip and the trumpeter handled his rejection with a good natured tip of the hat and a blowing of his horn.  
“Sire,” the chauffeur greeted Stiles initially, holding the door open for him, but once Stiles was safely inside, he said little else.  
This allowed Stiles his thoughts as they turned away from the chaos of Bourbon Street, accompanying him off into the night.  
There was something about the way the way the city darkened that Stiles had missed, like it was wrapping its arms slowly around itself.  
It was definitely part of what fascinated him and encouraged him in his decision to remain. New Orleans was jazz and liquor and vitality, yet turn its corners and there was witchcraft, white magick, and the lures of the flesh. (Sometimes Stiles wasn’t sure which side he wanted to see more of. They both called him, had been a siren song to him for a while now).  
Jesus he was missing Klaus, he realized.  
  
As the sedan took him down wide streets lined with poplar trees, Stiles noticed they weren’t going to the Mikaelson manor. The elegance of the houses in their colonial-style architecture were common enough, but he’d never been this far down. It was obvious there was money to be had in this part of the city, (something Klaus and the whole Mikaelson line had plenty of).  
As he admired the fine buildings, his eyes studied the tone of masonry familiar in New Orleans, another thing he’d lamented when back in Beacon: the cemetery right in the middle of the neighborhood. As dark as a thought that might have been, it was such a familar thing in New Orleans it had all but lost its sad connotation.  
“Life and death,” he said to himself, flickering his curious eyes between the array of fine homes--just now turning out lights for early evenings in--and the cold slabs of the tombs just a few feet across the street.  
  
The driver let him off at a residence towards the end of the road, bold and masterfully decorated. Stiles recalled the unusual addition as he came up the walkway: from the iron pillars jutted dangerous looking spikes which seemed menacing and out of place on houses so picturesque, yet they were very commonplace here.  
He made a mental note to ask Klaus about them, and about the change of location. Perhaps Klaus was house sitting for someone?  
Besides the crimson double doors was a placard that marked the building as part of the historical society – its construction dating back to the 1800s. The appellation etched into its brass: The Silver Bell Manor.  
Stiles pressed the chime which echoed politely through the house. He waited, and the thick warmth of the Southern winter rested on his skin like a moist exhale. So different from sitting in the evenings on his dad’s porch wrapped in fleece and swimming in oversized sweatshirts, watching his breath form flimsy clouds as he talked.  
His phone vibrated once more, this time the message urging him to come inside. Twisting the handle, the right door yawned open and Stiles crossed the threshold, closing it behind him with a gentle nudge of his rear.  
“Upstairs darling, second door on the left,” said a very familiar voice. Not stopping to wonder why some of the paintings and sculptures (which had a home in Klaus’ chambers) were carefully lining the walls and sitting room of this place, Stiles guided himself up around an elegant staircase to the second floor.  
  
His pulse racing, Sierra eyes already sparkling in adoration, Stiles took the steps two at a time.  
“In the study, love” announced a voice very close to him, which made Stiles stop at a large entryway. It looked to be made of an ancient wooden gate and was breathtaking.  
Behind the sturdy door, which was conventiently ajar, was exactly what Stiles had come for: his love.  
  
Klaus was there; he could see him, he could smell him. The warm scent of hot charcoal and the musk of a thousand ancient oaks permeated the air.  
Stiles knew he was skulking about, yet the sight of him overcame him no less. He felt his entire person throb in anticipation.  
“My love,” Klaus opened his arms, his expression bright even though his eyes shone a sad blue. The men threw themselves into a embrace that made even their knees shiver.  
The loneliness that Klaus had felt in these weeks peaked and struck him all at once, as fast and painful as lightning.  
  
“I missed you so much, baby,” Stiles declared into Klaus’ perfectly ironed shirt, and as they broke just enough to have breathing space, Klaus replied with a “My world stopped, Stiles,” before claiming his mouth.  
Their lips were hard and searching, as much as their hands who spared not even an inch in their exploration.  
When they finally let their tongues leave their mouths, panting from the soul-reaching kiss, Stiles halted and looked about him.  
  
“What is this place?” he asked, pirouetting in the middle of the room. He threw his coat over the nearby chair and absorbed his surroundings.  
“This, my love,” Klaus extended a hand in showmanship and twirled his wrist, “is our new home. But we won’t be living here until we’re married. I’m kind of old fashioned about some things.”  
  
Shaking the shock from his shoulders, Stiles gasped. “Wait, what? What about the Mikaelson manor? Our room?”  
Klaus was practically beaming, his intent alive with azure fire. “It will all still be there. Most of it, anyway. That will always be a second home. But with Davina pregnant now, and Elijah back for a while, it’s getting very crowded darling. Once we’re married I’ll want you all to myself.”  
Lifting his lips until they hovered just above his, his mouth swooped down into a tender peck. “I shan’t make love to you and worry that someone will hear you screaming my name. Why? Don’t you like it?”  
  
From what little Stiles saw it was magnificent! Just this room alone! It was a large study decorated entirely with books on countless shelves, filled with the homey accoutrements that had made Klaus’ office at the manor worthy of a great mind.  
And out the window, behind the desk, was the cemetery. Stiles didn’t have to guess that that was Klaus’ little touch just for him.  
“I, I… “ Stiles stuttered. “Are you kidding?! I love it! What’s not to adore?! Thank you so much, baby. I… I don’t know what to say.”

Sealed inside the room, eclipsed by the pervading scent of the man which filled it so completely, Klaus looked at him and his unclouded sky eyes flickered in the low light as he observed him with a feline consideration.  
“I’m so happy, Stiles,” Klaus breathed. “I was worried it would be too much. That… _all this_ might be too much.”  
His handsome face turned up at the corners as he regarded him, just the smallest furrow of worry crinkling his brow.  
In the quiet, a thousand voices whispered to Stiles: family, friends, mentors. Granted, not all were unsupportive, but those who were had hurt him most. Those that, without understanding his true circumstances in New Orleans, had told him to leave, to flee, to go.  
“This is all dangerous, a fool’s game,” was the basic message.  
What of the struggles, the triumphs, his summa cum laude, his Stanford Masters… also those voices begged him to backtrack home, return to Beacon Hills.  
Many, Stiles thought, were criticisms born of envy. “There is still time,” some had offered, almost wringing their hands to see him come home with his tail between his legs.  
Others even implied the ridiculous notion that he take Derek back. (What for?! he wanted to scream! To spend more nights alone, wondering where the Alpha was?!)  
Stiles had never listened to what people said before- he wasn’t going to start now.  
He broke the gaze, taking calculated steps towards the window, allowing his shoulders to relax. He bid the voices crowding his mind to hush.  
  
“You know,” Stiles began, “my Dad always told me not to waste time on boys who play in cemeteries. He always said they must be up to no good.”  
Stiles peered out to beyond the iron fencing where, plotted unsuspectingly in the middle of the lavish streets of New Orleans, was a towered field of mausoleum after mausoleum. He turned his face to soak in his lover, who still observed him with his cautious eyes - cat’s eyes and a cheshire smile creasing his crimson lips.  
  
“Fathers are known for their striking insight, you know,” he replied, glancing without humility down Stiles’ lovely face to the graceful slope of his neck, the firmness of his chest which stretched the fabric of his shirt so beautifully. “All but mine, of course. He tried to kill me.”  
When their eyes met again, Klaus finished, almost as if he’d read Stiles’ mind. “Perhaps you should heed the sound advice of the voices in your head, my love. There’s still time.”  
  
Stiles cast him a look as equally tentative as his, just the hint of amusement twinkling in it to reassure him. “It’s my wise policy to never take good advice, I only ever give it. I’ve always been kind of a smart-ass, you can ask Scott.”  
Despite being quite sure of his intentions, Klaus let out a lung-deflating sigh of relief. His fists unfurled into long, reaching fingers that wanted nothing more in the moment than to touch Stiles again.  
Intimately.  
Stiles turned to peruse into the graveyard once more, smirking despite himself, “Imagine what he’d say about a man with spikes on his gate.”  
Referring once more to the dangerous looking pillars adorning the stylized homes of New Orleans, Klaus seemed not to miss a second.  
He laughed, a baritone rumble both threatening and joyful, a taunt and tease.“Ah, the Romeo Catchers.”  
  
A quick upturn of his manicured eyebrow, his dark eyes flashing with curiosity that he hoped not to give away so quickly, Stiles backed into him, surrendering to the clasp of Klaus’ hands on his shoulders.  
“You have them at the manor as well. I always forget to ask you what they’re trying to keep out.”  
  
The look Klaus returned suggested he knew he already had Stiles’ attention, more for his graze on his body than anything else.  
When he spoke next, his voice was more controlled. So low that, perhaps, had the room not been so quiet, Stiles may not have heard him if he hadn’t whispered it into his ear.  
“There’s a story that’s born right from this house. Of the Romeo Catchers,” he paused and Stiles held his breath, observing the passing people in the night, not unaware of Klaus’ tightening grip. “And of the belle who lived here a very long time ago... she was a proper girl, you know. And you know, love,” his voice held something he couldn’t place but it made Stiles’ skin tingle.  
Perhaps it was the pure love rolling off his tongue like honey… perhaps it was his British accent which would forever woo Stiles, but he was swooning.  
“Men notice beautiful girls and boys. And oh, did the men notice her, and they wanted her so badly. And she was a very naughty girl and she teased them all terribly, poppet that she was... terribly.”  
  
Stiles felt the pulse of excitement in his sex, prickling the top of his cheeks with longing as Klaus dragged his nose along his jawline. He knew how closely Klaus was watching him, could sense the weight of his attentions, and he could smell his desire thickening the room. It engulfed them both.  
Stiles knew before he even touched him. He felt the firm fingers bring down the collars of his jacket, sliding the sleeves off of him.  
Two strong arms wrapped around his chest from behind then, Klaus dropping his chin in a sigh of pleasure as he undid the buttons on Stiles’ shirt.  
“Baby…” It was a beseech, for what, he wasn’t sure. Stiles bit his lip then released, bit and released.  
Excited and cooled at the same time by the chilling night air as his torso became exposed, he stiffened.  
  
Stiles wanted to feel fondled, to feel Klaus’ fingers or his mouth bury itself in his muscles, SOMETHING! His thirsty skin begged for it... but Klaus’ hands traveled down to his hips instead and just teased, sitting there like empty gloves.  
His chest to his back, Stiles could feel the vibrations with each deep word. It sent an involuntary chill through him.  
“Yes, love,” Klaus blew into his ear, knowing full well what he was doing to him. Knowing that they hadn’t made love in a month… his dipped his head so his soft curls tickled the sensitive skin there.  
“She was a very naughty girl. And who knows the hours she stood at this very window and teased them all in such a manner, just like you now... exposed like no sweet belle should be.”  
  
Oh Holy God, Stiles thought, immobile under his ministrations. Klaus pinched the fabric of his tented trousers, undoing them with vampiric speed. He slunk them down his thighs before Stiles could realize he was nearly naked.  
Stiles felt the free air the more exposed he became, looking through Klaus’ window down at the dead, the drunkards, and the jazz musicians on the street beneath them.  
“Men can only be toyed with for so long, you know, before they’re simply overcome--“ Klaus’ voice caught, only a second, only the fraction of it perhaps, but enough to let Stiles understand that he, too, was yearning. “Because humans are such weak creatures.”  
  
Stiles, bare-chested, standing at the window in nothing but his boxers, sighed to feel the sudden slow caress of Klaus’ fingers across his aching cock. The wild surge of pleasure almost made him come.  
“Klaus…” hot prickles jolted up and down Stiles’ spine. “Please…”  
  
Klaus stroked the cotton, so lightly that his cock pleaded with a small twitch. Stile’s underwear was red--a deep red, full like fresh blood. Darkening them was the weeping of his desire, slick on the head.  
  
“Being weak, one such boy…” Klaus breathed out and Stiles shivered at the feel of his lips against his clavicle, right near the artery. He left his fingers to torment his slit through the thin sheath, but had enough mercy to use his other hand to stroke his equally impatient nipples.  
Stiles gave in and moaned then, a delicious sound rumbling into him, feeling Klaus’ hands, smelling him, hearing him, but his sights still on the mossy tombs.  
Who knew whose attentions were on them from below? Who could see?  
The idea exhilarated him.  
  
“A local boy, a judge’s son,” Klaus continued, ignoring the obvious discomfort of his love-starved fiance’, taking the spare moments between words to spread kisses and nips along his carotid and down to his shoulder.  
His very essence played with the air and Stiles’ flesh as he went on, “Daft as though he was, thought he might make quick work of his fun with that naughty, naughty belle. And what, love, did he do?”  
Klaus moved his digits down and slipped them past the waistband.  
“Jesus Christ,” Stiles mewled, eyes rolling into the back of his head.  
Hot lips pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, his jaw, his ear and Klaus just regaled the tale as if nothing were transpiring, “He tried to climb the Romeo Catcher, my darling, and he was _gutted._..”  
  
Stiles gasped as he felt Klaus penetrate him with two sturdy fingers. His belly quivered, the rush of it flushing his face.  
The way Klaus had said the word, the hiss of it, the feeling of his cool fingers in his tight hot opening… it all made Stiles’ knees weaken and he shut his eyes to the world.  
  
Klaus’ palm left his chest, sliding up to the top of his throat, and he leaned him back by his chin long enough to take his mouth.  
They tasted in each other the same weighty lust that had left Stiles feeling breathless, choked by pure need. Klaus’ lips turned ravenous, and when he broke Stiles exhaled low between white teeth.   
“Do you want me again, love? Do you want me?” Klaus’ palm closed around Stiles’ cock and he stroked his neglected sex.  
Klaus asked again, “Will you be good or will you be terrible? Do you plan to tease me too, Stiles?”  
Stiles was nothing but the strum of sensation rolling over him with each working of his digits, yet before he could think to say otherwise he opened his murky eyes. He studied Klaus’ piercing gaze, both lost entirely within their hold, and Stiles whispered, “I’ll tease you but only in the best ways, my love...”  
  
Not entirely out of surprises, only the ever so slight widening of his pupils gave Klaus away. He removed his hand from his but this was only so, with a pleased laugh, he could squeeze his shaft in firm , even touches.  
Klaus kissed him again and kissed him once more, insatiable. There they stood, caught in the throes for anyone--living or dead--in New Orleans to see.  
Stiles slid his open palm down to join Klaus’ hand. Their fingers wet with his excitement, Stiles took hold before he was given the release his body craved and pulled Klaus’ contact from him.  
Klaus didn’t hesitate to bring their glistening fingers to their lips, where his musky smell mingled with the intense scent of a man’s pre--and something Klaus knew was dark and sensual, something Stiles possessed and he desperately wanted to savor- for eternity.

He watched as, from between his lips, Klaus’ muscle darted out to lick the same delicious secretion from their fingers before offering his own to him. Stiles swallowed both his long fingers, lavish with his effort to enjoy the smokey flavor of his saliva on Klaus’ unique taste.  
Klaus watched with amusement and flagrant arousal. Those sharp eyes seared a path, took in everything and missed nothing.  
“You are my good little pet, aren’t you, love?”  
  
Stiles felt his pads pop from his lips, and with a move of his hips, Klaus helped him in dropping the rest of the clothing to a pile at his feet.  
He turned then, away from the cemetery and away from the lights, and into Klaus, backing him into their dark room, surrounded by all their (spoken) and unspoken passions.  
Even in the dimness, Stiles knew he could see him clearly. He knew what he was and what powers that held… which would soon, in part, be his.  
Klaus glided his hands over the toned muscles of Stiles’ body, taking in everything he could, everything he hadn’t taken in any of the days before but had wished he had.  
Every mark on his skin, inked or not… every mole… each scar that detailed some great tragedy, a great loss, a moment when he fell and shattered and thought he’d never get back up- made him fall in love all over again.  
  
Klaus could see it in his love’s flesh but also in his soul: each internal piece shattered, was another crafted piece of armor to protect him from the next heartbreak--he recognized all of it.  
And Stiles wanted him to see it. For once, he wanted Klaus to memorize every bit.  
However, he needed to unravel Klaus, too. Lose himself in him, scent him, taste him. OWN HIM.  
  
Klaus’ pants were tailored, but their care meant nothing as Stiles pulled the crisp dress shirt from the belted end. The buckle, the latch, the button, and the zipper fell as quickly as Stiles did to his knees in front of the man who’d be his husband for all eternity, his mysterious shadow lover.  
Klaus’ eyes smoldered… and Stiles was given his reward for being good.  
  
Stiles inched forward and kissed his engorged cock through the fabric of his Armani’s, feeling the thick shaft against his lips.  
God how he’d missed this!  
Stiles’ nostrils perked- the scent was overwhelming now. He literally shook in anticipation knowing that between his flesh and Klaus’ raw manhood was only the thinnest of expensive fabric. Another rush of want flooded between his legs.  
Rolling the band down, Stiles held himself from taking the shaft right into his mouth and instead leaned to give the tip, slick with pre, a lick.  
Klaus made a grunt- a noise of approval and, pulling back, Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he gathered the strand which had followed him.  
“Be very good for me, won’t you?” Klaus huffed, but this time his voice had an edge which was a little more than blunt. Something... pleading.  
Stiles gripped his stiff cock at the base and brushed it against his cheeks and lips, guiding it as he left small ropes of cum against his moles.  
Klaus watched him from under half-lidded eyes which seemed to be losing the same cunning focus as before, but which grew with intensity.  
He breathed out, “Be very, very good, my love. Show me you can.”

Stiles leaned forward and ran his muscle up from the base, along the shaft, which twitched under his warmth. Stiles felt the heavyweight of Klaus’ hands come to his broad shoulders as he suckled gently on the head.  
He circled it expertly, just as Klaus’ fingers had done to his sex moments before, and Stiles pressed his legs together at the very thought.  
Klaus’ cock perfumed of amber, and he closed his eyes to feel it move between his lips, in and out, sliding with silkiness along his tender skin until it his the back of his throat.  
Two hands gripped Stiles by his chestnut hair, stroking the drying secretions from his soft cheeks as he begged him to go deeper. “More darling, I beg you.”  
Stiles’ gentle grip tightened just enough, his cock riding the ridge, his lover determined not to lose a drop of his brine, which thickened as Klaus began a nice pace between his battered lips.  
  
Stiles wanted him here, like this, with his sex hardening and thickening with each push in and slide out, each chest-deflating sigh from Klaus amplifying the escaped moans from Stiles.  
Klaus wanted to feel the heat of his come as it filled Stiles’ mouth, the press of his throat around him as he swallowed it all – and then devious strands would make their way down his chin.  
Klaus imagined coming inside him again, how it must have felt for Stiles the first time in Stonehenge when it ran down his chest and later coated the back of his thighs.  
“Stiles…” Klaus twisted into his hair in a caress that urged. Although he knew what he wanted, Stiles continued to suck and lick his head so teasingly Klaus had no choice but to move his hips back; He gave that tickled laugh despite the breathy tone of his voice, “Naughty now, after you’ve been so good, love?”  
  
Licking at his swollen lips, Stiles turned his blown eyes up at his lover and felt the burning grow only stronger.  
Klaus had made short work of the buttons of his dress shirt and he stood with his chest exposed now, firm and broad, and Stiles stood to kiss the sprouting of tawny hair there.  
Klaus whimpered, buried his nose in his locks and Stiles heard him take in the smell of himself on Stiles’ skin, the soap and perfume and the arousal. The essence of him, he knew, was all over Stiles--there was nothing exclusive any longer. They had mingled so completely it felt like they were one.  
  
Pulling his face back up, Klaus’ mouth covered his, the flavor of his lips and his come lingering there.  
Klaus took Stiles back in a single step to fall like a limp rag doll into the cushions of Italian leather.  
He held him prisoner, ravishing his lips, his jaw, his cheeks, his neck with nips and bites. If Klaus was too rough, he supplied with a kiss or a lick for forgiveness.  
Stiles could never forgive him, though, for he was too consumed by the ecstasy to realize the slight against him--he wanted nothing more than for the moment to last forever. With only the surest of movements, Klaus brought Stiles down in a hasty manner onto his waiting cock.  
Stiles gasped, feeling his walls tense with surprise, only to give in with a wonderful ease a few movements later.  
It was like being dipped in warm ocean water and drowning.  
  
The lovers watched, the sound of their breathing to accompany, as Klaus disappeared inside him. When they were fully connected, Stiles released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. His knees braced, Stiles mewled as Klaus lifted his buttocks and brought him achingly back tunneling down on his length.  
“Stiles!”  
Allowing himself to feel nothing but the sensation of steeled heat inside him, brushing him in every delicate place that made his body scream, they worked a steadily, carefully increasing pace. Stiles fell into the dizzying numb called Klaus that consumed him from tip to root.  
“Klaus,” he said to no one now. “Klaus…”  
  
A thumb flicked his slit and suddenly Stiles cried out before he could control it. “Oh! God!” his legs shivered, and with each continuing stroke of his thumb, of his cock, the bright light expanded behind his lids. “More Klaus, please!”  
His head fell back and he begged for mercy.  
  
Stiles hated him then for the way he laughed, loved him, desired him, longed for him, and despised him for that cultured little chuckle. Niklaus Mikaelson, with his self-satisfied way about him, the one he was so drawn to, as he touched him, fucked him, closer and closer to reaching their burning release that edged its way into their darkest horizon.  
“Stiles, I want to hear you. I know why you’re so quiet- and I don’t think the dead or the inebriated will mind. Let me hear you, do it for me,” Klaus added more precision to his hardened sex, kneading it between his nimble fingers. “This is our home.”  
Stiles’ head came forward, his damp hair a mess from their lovemaking. Their passion, the heat of the room and the blaze within him, Jesus… with each ever-quickening thrust of Klaus’ cock or the meddling of his fingers, it forced from Stiles what were the sounds of a man made free.  
He felt Klaus bite his neck again.  
  
“That’s it, love. That’s it.” There seemed something hidden inside of him, a barricade he may have never known existed but whose presence dictated the course of his entire life, and it cracked.  
Stiles felt himself fall, tumble forward into something beyond what he had ever thought imaginable, and quaked violently with the torrent which washed over him under Klaus’ touch.  
Clawing, desperate, and screaming for him, “Klaus! Klaus!” Stiles had been brought to a peak higher than any he’d ever climbed.  
And so he spilled.  
The world felt suddenly distant to him, a faraway thrum of lust, but before the darkness overcame him he was sure--so very sure--he heard Klaus say his name: Stiles, my love.  
_  
  
When he opened his eyes, it was very dark. Dark as midnight, more than he had remembered it being, and he realized he was laying against something soft. Stiles brushed his face into it and felt the gentle strands of a fine shag blanket--he came back to remember where he was.  
He half-expected to have woken to find he’d had a fever dream and that, in fact, his alarm went off twenty minutes ago and he had a class to teach back in Beacon High.  
Yet he could smell charcoal, he could smell musk, he could smell the sharp scent of lovemaking that always lingered in the air for hours once he and Klaus were spent.  
  
Most importantly, Stiles felt HIM against his back. Klaus was awake, he could tell, and spending his time in the night stroking up and down Stiles’ spine and arms in lazy patterns.  
Occasionally Klaus would brush his hair from his face, touch his neck carefully, before returning to his delicate tracing.  
“What time is it?” Stiles muttered, breaking the quiet, voice barely above a whisper.  
“Late,” Klaus replied just as soft, never stopping his mapping, “Very late, my love.”  
The way his tone lingered on the words-- _my love_. Stiles trembled, even in the warm room. It seemed silly, but Stiles felt exposed in a way that was unlike him to feel. Here on the floor, his body was open to him and this struck him with a strange shyness.  
He tried to turn away, to press himself into the covers, but Klaus stopped him and nudged against him, enveloping him in the safety of his arms.  
His searching lips touched his ear and Klaus whispered, “We’re in the heart of the night...we’re like angels of the night, darling.”  
Angels... or demons? Stiles mused.  
  
Stiles spoke his next words as if something else desired to speak for him, something long waiting inside of him.  
“Doesn’t it feel...” he paused, he waited, “like perhaps that is where we belong? In the night? In the depths of it?”  
Klaus said nothing, and Stiles felt him still beside him.  
  
The room changed, the air shifted, he could feel it, and Klaus moved to allow him onto his back where he could look down at him.  
In the dappled low light, he could hardly see, but he knew, even in the shadows, how Klaus’ stare was. Those tiger eyes, the jagged sapphires that made him bleed, were turned on him now.  
Klaus spoke in a tone of voice he’d never heard, one that affixed his to him.  
  
“It’s been so long, Stiles, my love. It has been so long--“ he released a sigh then, but the tone lost none of the dark vigor, “So long, _too long_. I won’t go another... century, another decade, another day, another moment...”  
The way Klaus looked, the way he sounded, it sent a chill through him. Stiles dared not even sneeze.  
  
“Do you know, Stiles? Do you know what it means to be so alone for so long? Not a moment more. We were meant to meet, you and I. Freya was right. This is our becoming.”  
  
“Yes,” Stiles surrendered in the dark… TO the dark, and realized, with some shock, that tears had escaped down his cheeks. Suddenly nothing felt more right.  
He repeated himself, and he meant it, “Yes. I want it, Klaus. I want you.”  
  
Klaus pivoted, so quickly it made him gasp for breath, and he took his face in his hands. His eyes were still so targeted, so overwhelming, but his touch gentle and soothing.  
“Pale freckles,” he leaned in to kiss his skin where his thumbs stroked lovingly, “on a pale moon. Stiles, Stiles...”  
He sighed again and pressed his lips to his forehead, “Are you ever going to leave me, Stiles?”  
  
The question had an answer: “No,” Stiles whispered to the ancients. “Never, my love.”  
  
Klaus held his parched lips to his and he could sense the way he stilled, the way he held him, that he was overcome himself with something Stiles was only _now_ aware of.  
He thought Klaus was moving away, pulling back- silencing the rush that had brought them both to this point. He wasn’t, he was only retreating to show Stiles everything—HIS everything.  
  
“I am a monster, Stiles,” he sibilated. “But you’ve made me more a man than most human men are. Are you sure… are you sure you want to be this?”  
The fangs were sharp, sharper even than his amber stare, and in the darkness they picked up on the faintest hint of light.  
Stiles saw them shimmer as his dark lover, his wild master, turned his head to look upon him. The realization lay bare, covering Stiles like a wave of calming certainty. He wasn’t afraid, he couldn’t be, he couldn’t imagine being scared. He was going to have Klaus by his side for eternity. And with that, he was going to be born into a family that would never let anyone hurt him.  
 _Always and forever._  
Stiles nodded, unable to resist the call, and gave in to the temptation to touch the tip of one of Klaus’ fangs.  
  
As if he was letting a child experience something new for the first time, Klaus waited patiently. And, like a child, he had only just touched the pad of his finger to the tip when a droplet of blood appeared. It had cut him so finely he had hardly felt it until the crimson beaded.  
Stiles went to take it when Klaus moved to engulf his slender finger in his mouth and, feeling his worn body spring back to life, he watched as he suckled.  
Against his leg, he could feel his cock responding. Klaus growled like the born predator he was.  
He removed his digit, kissing the damaged tip sweetly. Klaus brushed back Stiles’ damp strands from his eyes, that intense gaze growing deeper by the second, penetrating into his own, gnawing at him.  
  
“Do you want this, Stiles?” Klaus asked one last time, his fangs showing. Stiles studied them--dangerous, beautiful things on a dangerous, beautiful man.  
Stiles understood the question then, better than anything he ever had before.  
“Yes,” he said to him, letting the simple word entirely engulf them. “Dear God yes...”  
  
“Trust me, Stiles...” Klaus breathed, the exultation of his consent sending a jolt through him. “God has nothing to do with this.”  
Klaus gave nothing away, he only moved to kiss Stiles deeply, navigating between his legs. He could feel him, a tremble, an excitement. He entered him once more with the same passion as before, although their lovemaking was frenzied now.  
Stiles splayed his legs beneath him, wrapping them around his hips, and urging him on with tugs on his wavy hair and nails drawn along his taut back.  
Together they worked towards their perfect end. Or the beginning. It depended on the point of view.  
  
“I love you,” Klaus gasped, feeling the pull of his own climax approaching. Stiles quivered, feeling the inevitable coil inside ready to snap. “You’re my life, Stiles.”  
“I love you, I love you, too, Klaus...” and spurred on by the almost immediate burst of stars, he cried out as his orgasm fountained. “Turn me!”  
  
Klaus didn’t hesitate. He proceeded with what he’d wanted to do since he’d met him. His lover penetrated him completely: with his cock, his fangs, his essence, his seed.  
As Klaus’ body shook with the strength of his curse, he smothered Stiles with his form, enclosed him in his scent, the pressure of his mouth against the tender vein of his neck increased as he drank.  
  
Stiles felt something beautiful come through him, something he knew few others had ever felt before. His orgasm faded, (and his vision, too). He felt something liquid invade his cavity, it was slightly bitter and coppery but the sudden thirst made him suck it down until…  
The world, like so many times tonight, seemed to be growing away from him--yet this time it seemed all too real.  
Because it WAS real.  
  
Little by little, he felt these human senses dissipate until nothing was left but the cooling heat of his lover’s body, the air thick with their lovemaking, and the blood filling his stomach.  
In the study, Stiles spent his final moments as a human in Klaus’ arms with only the tombs around to witness, and to welcome.  
Tomorrow he would wake with Klaus beside him, and begin a new existence.  
What would he be again? That’s right: an angel in the night's beating heart… and a part of Klaus’ unbeating one for eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for your ongoing support! This story may end up being much longer than I anticipated, as I think I'm going to take the boys on a world trip for their honeymoon. So you won't be rid of me or this story just yet. :)  
> Parts of this chapter have been re-adapted and re-written by myself from a vamp story collab I had done with a person named sensual scholar.  
> Info from google and various wiki research.  
> As a faithful reader pointed out, what happened to parts 2 and 3 of Stiles/Scott and Marcellus/Klaus and the new arrival Derek? They’re the next chapters on the docket. My beta has taken a few days off for a mental health stacay- if he doesn’t feel like getting back to it before the weekend I’ll ask my bestie. But they’re coming! No way I would leave you without these gems (especially the Derek chapter).  
> Stay tuned! 
> 
> Note: I'm working on a new very special story for Klaus and Stiles as well, a kind of AU but with their canon backgrounds. It's around 20 pages right now. I'm shamelessly plugging it here, because if you enjoy my style this one is really special to me. When I drop it I'll let you know, I would love for you to give it a chance so please stay tuned.  
> As always, comments and kudos are lovely and highly appreciated. Many thanks for the support, I'll never stop saying it. :)


	9. Two Hookups- Two More Proposals- And An Unwanted Visitor - Part 2 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets Scott at the Mikaelson manor where he asks him a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never, enjoy my peeps!

The evening they’d met, the men had shared a pleasant, albeit short walk to the Mikaelson manor. Once inside the grounds, the striking courtyard, the gardens and internal balconies boasted such vivid lights and shades that they hit Marcel with more than just a hint of nostalgia. Scott, instead, felt the breathless wonder as yet another piece of New Orleans impressed upon him how unique the architecture here could be.  
Once Marcel had stopped pointing and elaborating on the various aspects of the house’s history, figuring it was time they met their respective appointments, he and Scott sauntered over to the foyer. It’s there they were forced to part ways.  
Marcel knew all too well where Klaus would receive him- in his private mini-wing- and imagined that Stiles would be given access to Klaus’ public study. Either that or the sitting room. Their paths were momentarily split left and right regardless (much to the dismay of both).  
Marcel left Scott at the large double doors leading up to the right wing, promising to wait for him outside so they could continue their evening as discussed.  
_  
  
Was it the wind that made those deep murmurs or was it his heart pounding in his chest?  
Scott felt observed, even though his werewolf's sense told him there was no one behind him. Yet he couldn’t help looking over his shoulder, and by the time he gathered the courage to glance up from his feet to the forbidding ancient doors, he heard footsteps approaching from the other side.  
He sucked in a breath, his entire body tensing. Scott knew he’d see Stiles in just a matter of heartbeats, and for some reason it was making him shaky.  
Perhaps it was because Scott missed his best friend and felt guilty for having abandoned him in Beacon Hills. Even though Stiles had reached out numerous times, asking Scott to come back for a visit, he didn’t have time to comfort him in person. After the breakup with Derek, his dissertation kept him so busy he wasn’t able to return home- and now he was asking himself if that wasn’t part of what made Stiles flee. Was the burden of living in the same place as Derek Hale too much?  
He and Stiles had been in contact since, but upon reflection, Scott realized he hadn’t seen Stiles IN YEARS. There was more than a physical distance between them now, he sensed it. Perhaps it was this undertone of obligation and a sense of duty towards Stiles that sent him directly to New Orleans when his best friend had invited him.  
Was I a good friend after all?! he wondered.  
There wasn’t enough time to schedule an existential crisis. Briefly, after he heard the shuffling of feet, one of the two doors yawned open and there stood a woman, not much younger than Scott, in a black uniform suited for someone who ran everything from behind the scenes.  
She was round-faced and topping her head was a mass of wild red hair which she had tied back into a bun, despite the rebellious tangles which slipped out. Two pillow lips, one of which disappeared at the sight of him, tucked neatly behind her perfect teeth, making Scott whimper.  
She looked almost exactly like Lydia.  
How would it feel to kiss her? he thought in sudden embarrassment, surprised at himself for having such a thought at all. He’d never had romantic feelings for his friend, and his penchant in his attractions had always leaned more towards dark-haired men and women. What the hell was coming over him?  
With a Creole lilt familiar to the area, the woman inquired with a subservient hush, “You’ve come to see le maître de la maison, oui?”  
Those round emerald eyes were laser points cutting into him, studying his form just as much as he was studying hers. Stiles could feel their heat over his already searing skin. (The shy steps she took from side to side and her twitching fingers did nothing to hide her interest).  
Similar to Stiles, Scott noticed, the house manager was covered in moles and kissed in freckles; Yet Scott could tell these spots--lighter than Stiles’-must have covered the woman _all over_ while his friend was only sparsely dusted.  
It sent heat to his groin- and again he wondered what the hell was happening. Was there something in the New Orleans air?!  
He needed only a beat to collect himself, escaping the demanding vision of sucking on her upper lip—so dusky pink and perfectly arched. He was also not spared the torment of her freckles, which he imagined mapping with his fiery tongue wherever he might find them. _Get a grip, Scott!_  
Fortunately his senses returned to him and he thought to Marcel- those naughty thoughts transferred to his handsome new companion.  
Young poets might call his eyes depthless, like looking into two chasms- and Scott would agree: not for the color, but for all the sharp edges they contained within. Marcel was a beautiful mystery to unravel, and he’d be happy to volunteer.  
  
Like anything precious, or worthy of attention, Scott had been immediately captivated by their coy shimmer. The man who had literally run into him had with unabashed confidence wooed him and propositioned him after not even a handful of minutes in his presence.  
What Scott expected to be a trip with all the excitement of a grandparent’s slide show of the Grand Canyon had quickly become an adventure- in every sense of the word.  
It took one whisper and fingertips that grazed his thigh- and as if drugged, Scott found himself a molten mess in the man’s shadow and his firm grasp.  
He didn’t yet know what the evening would hold in store for them. He was still ignorant of the pleasant events to come: getting bit and fucked against the bookcase at Marcel’s house, and then on top of his expensive carpet… and again on his leather sofa. Oh, the delights that awaited him!  
But for now, what Scott knew in this frame of time was that Marcel’s gaze sliced him up with every lustful look. Scott loved it, and he wanted to bleed like that again and again.  
He couldn’t wait for their night to progress.  
  
“Monsieur?” she reminded him he hadn’t answered.  
Oh, yes, Scott realized after a moment’s silence, he needed the master of the house. Or one of the two. Scott didn’t speak, but the way he looked at her, and the simple motion of his nod, caused the maid’s apple-green eyes to shy away.  
Her face was the shade of a fair sunset as she stepped aside to let him pass. The housekeeper brought him up through the house and to the lit entryway of Klaus’ study before taking her silent leave.  
  
_  
  
Upon seeing Scott, Stiles’ chest nearly burst from the exultation. God, how much he’d missed him!  
“Scott!” he threw himself into his friend’s arms, squeezing as tight as he could without hurting him.  
_  
He’s a vampire._ The realization was as immediate as the chilly touch to his torso. _  
_ The truth sent a mortal cold running through his veins. He tried to stifle the gasping grunt from the impact of their embrace… but all of this at once was an incredible shock.  
_Stiles is a vampire._  
On some level, Scott had suspected. There were rumors about this family- what they were. If he’d moved here because he was in love with one of them, it would be understandable that after nearly three years he’d choose this path.  
And yet… this was Stiles. Who’d never wanted the bite. Who had reveled in his humanity and had always prided himself on letting his emotions and intuition guide him. What did this mean for him?  
  
“God, have you been working out?” Stiles asked as he grasped at his biceps. “Jesus, man, it’s been years!”  
At an arm’s distance and yet still grazing one another, Stiles picked up on how Scott’s face had drawn tight with worry and confusion.  
Understandable. He hadn’t told him.  
  
When their eyes met again, a crinkle of anxious stirring to Scott’s apprehension, there was a definite awkward tension between them. Stiles felt like he was being judged the second Scott looked at him through this new filter.  
The Alpha was dragging his gaze up and down his friend’s body with attention. Tentatively. Almost clinically.  
Stiles knew that Scott meant well, that he was probably surprised and just wanted to make sure he was doing okay. It was _that_ look in Scott’s coffee eyes, though, that made Stiles sigh heavy.  
Concern, yes… but also a hint of reproach.  
“You’re a vampire.” The fact was barely above a whisper. “You could have told me.”  
  
Stiles deflated just slightly. Scott’s scrutiny was objective- he forced himself that much. He looked good. To be fair, beyond good. Especially in the dim light of the wood-lined study, he was absolutely magnificent. Stiles was trim and muscular to the right proportion. Definitely better dressed. His longer hair was styled and fell enough over his brow to hide what must have been his creased forehead because of the stress of this situation.  
Scott’s nostrils flared, and there was no sign of sadness or discomfort. His scent wasn’t like Marcel’s, though, it was much different. Almost sweetly intoxicating, equally overwhelming for his keen wolf’s senses, but definitely nothing provoking the anguished burning that Marcel’s had wrung from his body.  
Perhaps “new” vampires didn’t acquire an aged scent until much later, he mused.

A weak smile on his lips, Stiles let his arms drop to his sides. “I am a vampire, Scott. And I didn’t know how to tell you. It wasn’t exactly something to be told over the phone. For that, I’m sorry.”  
  
“Why did you do it, Stiles?” Scott finally inquired when he picked up his voice from the floor.

There was nothing but love in its tone, yet it was twisted up in disappointment, too, and it made Stiles wince for a second. The last thing he wanted to do was dishearten his best friend.  
“I love him,” Stiles answered almost too quickly. “We’re fated to be together. I couldn’t bear to grow old and not be with him. To die knowing he’d be left here grieving for me- would have been torture. There was no other choice.” 

“You love… You love someone enough to let them do _that_ to you?” Scott shuddered as he drew in a sharp breath. Registering the pained look on Stiles’ face, he advanced. Lightly leaning into him, tilting his face towards his, Scott closed his hands over Stiles’ biceps. “There’s always a choice, Stiles.”  
The warmth of his flesh over his shirt, a comforting weight on his limbs, forced a deep exhale from his friend’s lips. “Maybe there is, but there was only one choice for me. I love him with everything I am, Scott. Enough to let him do this to me, yes. Is it any different from making someone a werewolf?”

Stiles had a point, and it stung. “How long ago?” Scott asked in the same space of time, the question dangling from the end of Stiles’ phrase.   
When Stiles hesitated a moment, with a slight glare alight on his face, Scott backtracked. “ _I’m not trying to be a dick here._ I’m just trying to understand. Is this about Derek? Did you want the bite? Because I could have…”  
Scott swallowed the rest. He refrained from telling him how he’d always had a crush on him. How he’d hoped Stiles would still be single when he got done with his vet degree and his PhD specialty... what would be the point now?!  
He hated how Derek had treated him with disrespect and contempt. He had never trusted Stiles- not to make his own choices and not as a partner in a relationship. All along it was Derek who was stepping out, and he’d done nothing but accuse Stiles of the same behaviour.  
It was ridiculous and disgusting and if Scott hadn’t been so caught up in his own goddamn life, he’d have come back and torn that stupid wolf to shreds.  
There was still time. He made a mental note to himself to take care of that. He’d let Derek think he got away with it for a while longer. There were other matters at hand now.

“This has nothing to do with Derek,” Stiles offered, crossing his arms across his chest. His fingers bit deeply into his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to focus on the pain of not having Scott’s blessing.  
“I’d thank him for breaking up with me if he were here,” spit Stiles. “Not that I want him here, don’t get me wrong. If I never see him again, it will be too soon. Anyway, to answer your question… I turned six months ago.”  
Stiles bent his head, trying to gauge his reaction.  
“I see,” was all Scott could muster on the spot, his mind still processing everything. “I mean, I get it.”  
“You’re a werewolf, Scott. I’m a vampire. I mean, is it that weird for you? Any weirder than what all our friends are back home?”

The softness of Stiles’ stare moved something in Scott. He shook his head at the thought. He was right. What the hell did it matter.  
Any reservations he might have had, wouldn’t they all be in vain now, anyway? It’s not like it could be undone. Why be unsupportive? he reasoned.  
  
Wagging his head so hard some of his curls fell over his eyebrows, Scott conceded. “No, Stiles. It’s not weird. I didn’t ask for the bite, and you did. Different circumstances, different choices. Neither of us would go back to being normal humans now. We’re both here, and we are who we are. I just want you to be happy is all. Are you happy? Does Klaus treat you well?” _  
So Klaus isn’t a cheating snake like Derek who wanted nothing else than to destroy your self-esteem?_ Is what he wanted to say.  
  
Glorying in the feeling of acceptance, Stiles moved against him, so close he could feel the heat from his body pressing into his and Scott’s thundering pulse resounding in his ears.  
“Scott, I understand why you feel hurt, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Please trust me,” Stiles said into Scott’s hair, “But I know what I want, and it’s Klaus. I want to be with him forever and now I will be. Not just for years, Scott. Forever. I’ve never been happier in my entire life.”

Scott exhaled from the bottom of his lungs, blowing out the air as if it were a prayer puff.  
He said the next thing, looking straight into Stiles’ umber eyes. “If he ever hurts you, Stiles… I will rip his throat out.”   
The sentiment sent Stiles to clutch at him, knowing he could take more strength in the hug. Patting him on the back, Stiles murmured, “He can’t be killed, but I appreciate the offer, Scott. Speaking of offers…”  
  
“What’s up?” Scott’s eyebrow cocked, happy to move on from the dramatic moment. “Is there something else? Oh god, can vampires get pregnant? Are you pregnant?”  
Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead, with gentle hands, he rested them on Scott’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze.  
“I have no idea if male vampires can have babies. I’ll have to ask Klaus… also because if there’s any chance of that we just might be. Lord knows we can’t keep our hands off each other.”  
An immense wave of laughter overcame them both, Stiles happy to see Scott finally relaxing. “Well, it’s nice to see you’re still the same horny Stiles I’ve known, even as a vampire. Speaking of horny and vampires, remind me to tell you who I met on my way in.”  
  
“Um, okay.” Stiles fixed his expression to one of seriousness. He studied Scott with a focus that meant business, and for a second Scott’s smile faded.  
  
“Scott, Klaus and I are getting married on Saturday. That’s why I’ve asked you to stay a week. Would you be my best man?”  
“Of course!” Scott replied without hesitation, a cheerful lilt to the answer. They hugged once more, and this time there was no more tension.  
On some level, hearing of a wedding, of Klaus taking this commitment to Stiles to the next level, quieted his worried soul.

“Thank you, Scott,” Stiles whispered. “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else. I’m so happy you said yes.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” Scott spilled, shaking his head. “It’s my honor. Who else knows? Your father?” Scott wondered with enormous eyes. His heart was aching from happiness as ALL of this begun to sink in.   
Stiles knew getting Scott’s approval would be hard, but now he was looking at him with eyes that screamed: _yes, I get it, you love him, I understand, I want you two to be happy together. I got you._  
That’s all he’d wanted all along.  
  
“Dad knows. All of it. I went at Christmas and told him. Luckily, I didn’t give him a heart attack. I settled some things financially. He’s coming in a couple of days. I’ve a paid ticket for Melissa, too, if you think she’d want to accompany him. You know how he hates flying. And I told Peter, so I’m assuming Derek knows, too. Not that that asshole is invited, nor do I think he’d care at this point. Then there’s you, I’ve got a maybe from Lydia… I mean my side it’s small. I swore everyone to secrecy because I needed to tell you all this at once, in person. I hope you understand why.”  
  
Scott shrugged, the secrecy not really bothering him at all. “I get it, dude. And I’m so happy for you. I’m sure my Mom would die to come.”  
“Perhaps not the best phrase to use to talk about a vampire wedding, Scott.” They burst into belly laughs again, and just like that it was THEM again. Like they were before life got in the way- before the hardships had grown into things bigger than they actually were.  
  
“So who’d’you meet on the way over? You mentioned that earlier,” Stiles asked, definitely curious.  
Scott extended a hand, lips curled into a relaxed smile. “First, did you notice the house keeper looks like Lydia?"  
"Marie? Oh yeah. It's weird as fuck. I almost had a heart attack when I first saw her. Uncanny, isn't it?!"  
"Totally," Scott agreed. "So yeah, on my way here I literally got run over by Marcel Gerard. We’re going on a date after this. I... I just assumed I wouldn’t bug you and Klaus the same evening I got in. I mean, I didn’t really know what you were going to tell me, maybe you wanted to tell me to fuck off, so I accepted the offer. I mean, if you want I can cancel-”  
  
There was the simper Scott missed so much. Stiles clucked his tongue.  
“What? What’s with the face?”  
“You’re going on a date with Marcel Gerard? Klaus’ sired son?” There was no judgment. It was just fact, though Stiles looked extremely amused.   
  
Scott’s pulse quickened at hearing it aloud. “Yup. He’s nice. _And hot_.”  
“And a vampire,” Stiles quipped.  
  
“What can I say?" he splayed his arms. "I’m open-minded. I don’t discriminate.”  
While Scott tried to deny the throbbing beat in his throat, Stiles dropped his chin on his chest with a sigh of pleasure. “I’m happy for you. Klaus is very fond of him. Good for you, Scott. You have fun, we’ll catch up all day tomorrow.”  
Leaning in, he tried to ease the sudden worry in his friend’s star-filled gaze. He could read his mind, worried Marcel would magically disappear into thin air. Clasping a palm around his nape, he shook Scott lightly. “He’s not going anywhere, worry wart. So don’t wear him out tonight. If my fiance’ doesn’t fuck things up Marcel will be in attendance at the wedding. You’ll have a whole week with him, bestie. Pace yourselves.”  
Stiles' wink was devastating punctuation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from holidays and will try to be updating/editing with more frequency across the Teen Wolf board now that I have good internet service again. I appreciate your patience.  
>  **Shameless plug for my new Staus story** : The characters have their canon traits more or less background is canon too. What’s AU -Stiles is a professional pianist. Klaus is lonely and looking for companionship and with the excuse of asking Stiles to play at his funeral, (only a ruse), he manages to get his fav pianist crush to meet with him. Then he discovers Stiles is the doppelgänger of his ex-lover- Stiles’ great-great-grandfather.  
> They fall in love over musical pieces that Stiles plays in exchange for Klaus' anecdotes about the composers and artists that he's met or been lovers with in his life, including the likes of Chopin, Mahler, and Monet.  
> If you like Elijah and Klaus jabbing a bit at each other (but still being sweet), slow build love stories, a bit of musical history, and romance, I think you might like this one. The boys go on romantic dates (but don't worry, there’ll be sex in there, too).  
> It's up and I'd be super grateful (if this is your jam) if you'd check it out. https://archiveofourown.org/works/25675414/chapters/62335435  
> Thanks if you do give it a shot!  
> And stay tuned here for more coming very soon.


	10. Just One More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Hale arrives in New Orleans and visits with an old friend: Elijah Mikaelson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for DreadPirateWombat. You asked for Peter and I made it work and I thank you for the suggestion. I hope you like it, perhaps the pairing isn't what you expected but I promise there will be drama between the Hales!

“I’ve missed you, Peter.” In a heartbeat, Elijah stood before him and Peter stiffened. His reflexes were swift, but the vampire’s movements assured him he was no match.  
Elijah moved in human blinks. Of course Peter knew that, it’d just been a while since he’d had the pleasure of being… “entertained” by his “old” friend.  
  
Old. It almost made Peter chuckle out loud. He was perfect. Impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. Gorgeous. For a brief second, Peter wondered at the true age of his Elijah.  
His.  
Fuck. He was no more Peter’s than Peter was…  
  
The wolf tilted his dark head, deliberated in the comfortable silence on what marvels this family must have seen, what horrors must have blackened their hearts. Peter knew something of hatred and abomination and family tragedies. It was precisely those events which had thrown grey clouds into the candid blue skies of his eyes.  
It wasn’t always so tragic, though. The universe sometimes gifted him small boons, like seeing Elijah again. They kept him going, made him feel alive (and desired). Right now, Elijah’s loving stare riveted him to the spot, the adoration he knew he had for him… it all stoked back to life the blue flame of defiance in Peter's gaze.  
He’d miss the sense of freedom. Things in Beacon lately…  
  
Elijah studied him. Still didn't say a word.  
His wolf was sad and it was wringing something inside of Elijah that he almost always kept caged.  
Peter's eyes crinkled as he gave him a weak smile. His fingertips tingled with the urge to touch. With Elijah, Peter could be himself; he’d never be judged or hated, not even for the worst sins he’d weaved into his tapestry of horrors. Anything Peter could have done, Elijah or one of his kin had done worse. It wasn’t an attempt at excusing away unnecessary (or warranted) atrocity, but simple fact.  
Still, no matter how charming and exposed Elijah Mikaelson pretended to be, he was a creature of many mysteries, most of which only he and his siblings would ever know.  
Peter understood this and respected it- it reminded him a lot of the Hales.

“It takes a wedding for you to come and see me, Peter?” Elijah’s tone was bemused but strung as taut as the violin strings on which his fingers had masterfully glided an hour earlier. Peter took a sharp intake of breath, wishing he could have transformed himself into the instrument. As Elijah fingered a wayward lock of hair from Peter's face he thought about it... how it felt to be "played" by such hands. He knew something of it. Indeed.  
Elijah sighed, smoothed it back in place on Peter’s brow, marveling in stunned silence at how beautiful Peter Hale really was. He never pressed for conversation. When they were ready they talked.  
  
Peter pushed away an urge to lean into the touch. His mind raced with many questions but the one most exhilarating was which pieces would Elijah tease forth from him if he were his to bow and pluck?  
“You still smell like rosin, Elijah,” Peter breathed. “It’s one thing I’ve never forgotten about you. L’Opera Jade, is it not?”  
Elijah grinned, feeling a wild surge of pleasure at Peter’s care to memory. "The very same."   
“And I would have come sooner, it’s just that-”  
  
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted him with a raised hand. He hated doing so because it was rude and Elijah despised discourtesy, but to hear lies was just insulting. “I do believe that isn’t what you mean, my young wolf. Hmm?”  
“Young? I wish,” Peter quipped. He cleared his throat, the beating in his chest faster, the blood coursing in his veins like liquid fire. He was losing his calm.   
  
The thumping deafened Elijah, drunk on the scent of Peter’s blood and his sex. “Younger than me, for sure.”   
Unable to resist him any longer, he grabbed Peter’s bearded chin, his mouth closed over Peter’s. The slow penetration of Elijah’s tongue made the wolf whimper like a school boy. When their light, questing kiss became hard and searching, hands raking into hair and cheeks being squeezed, it was a punishing and angry ravishment of their mouths at the end. Then Elijah pulled off and put his fangs away. His respiration shallow, his senses drugged, he was afraid to look Peter in the eyes.  
"I apologize, I..."  
  
Peter sucked in a hung breath, choking at the arousal that wrapped around his throat. He felt the tug of Elijah’s mouth _between his thighs_.  
Of course Elijah would apologize _for kissing him_. As if it were a sin.   
“I’ve missed you, too, Elijah.”  
The tension dissipated and they both broke out into belly laughter. And when Elijah laughed… watch out! The heavens opened.  
  
Peter was staring, he knew he was, and he didn’t care. Those eyes were like brands of umber flames and they burned their way down his body and Christ Almighty it was almost ironic that a vampire would feel so hot, but that’s exactly what Peter perceived… Elijah was angel fire.   
He remembered their last time together. They’d locked themselves in a tiny manor outside of Quebec and had made love for a week. The phantom warmth of Elijah still heated his flesh and now, now all Peter ached for was that same caress. Just one more time. (That’s what they’d been saying for 15 years: just one more time).  
  
Lust sat in Elijah’s belly like a sharp sword, driving in deeper with every breath he drew. He didn’t even need the air, but it was something that had become second nature to him. Brought him that small step closer to feigned humanity.

“How is Klaus? Is Stiles doing okay with the _… change_?” Peter asked hoarsely, clenching his paws to keep from tearing his tailored clothes right from Elijah’s body. A man is only as good as his self-control, and Peter was determined to show him he could resist. (Although why they’d always played this stupid game of cat and mouse was beyond him).

Like a sensual ghost, Elijah flowed behind him and smoothly, with one gesture, peeled off his leather jacket. "Stiles is adjusting just fine. You'll see."   
He leaned forward, nuzzling Peter’s hair away from his neck with his nose. A press of soft lips to the thundering pulse there reminded Peter how much he’d yearned for him. He straightened into him and reached back searching for his hands.  
The pressure mingled with the smell of tree sap and exotic spice left a rush of warmth to lick its way down Peter's spine, adding to the tightness growing in his groin.  
Here Peter was yet again, helpless and more than willing to surrender to him. As if in a daze, Peter arched his long throat to grant Elijah better access, ignoring his screaming, frantic wolf instincts. Sharp fangs had grazed his soft skin many a time before, and with a light hiss of breath, Elijah pinioned his lover - only to deny himself this pleasure a heartbeat later.  
"It was difficult at first, but the boy managed. It helps, that he can walk in the day. That's most insufferable for many fledglings: having to live the night. But our Prince, he’s always been _special_.”  
  
Peter deflated in disappointment when Elijah stepped away, the supernatural strength of his embrace leaving just the heady sheath of moist air in its place. He was hoping...  
As a werewolf, it was unthinkable to let anyone so close to his artery, not to mention a vampire. It was one of the most vulnerable parts of his body, a vital spot for predators, especially wolves.  
Nevertheless, he’d learned to trust Elijah. After the first time it got easier. And when they did meet, Peter always wanted him to do it. It was like a drug. His cock would swell at the very idea. He imagined all the times Elijah took long pulls from him for their mutual satisfaction. Sucking, licking, tasting him like fine wine- and bringing him to orgasm.

”Stiles and I have been friends a long time. And to think we didn’t like each other at first. But Derek, he hurt him. He didn’t deserve it. So yes... I agree. Stiles, he’s special. He really is.”

Peter shuddered. _Have I completely taken leave of my senses again?  
_ A smile touched upon Elijah’s crimson lips as he swayed to Peter’s ragged breaths.  
“Darling, I won’t torture you too much longer. You know how much I enjoy earning my time with you. But can we talk about us?” He continued as if he weren’t torturing Peter with his fingertips, his words, his scent. _That voice._ He was weaving his usual spell.

“Please, Elijah...”  
Elijah murmured the promises, trailing his curved hand across Peter’s clavicle, claws scraping against soft creamy skin. He drew just a drop of blood and inhaled the sweet tang of the liquid beading on the surface- its taste so familiar to him and yet forbidden him for so long.

“You’re a tease,” Peter’s breath hitched in his throat as Elijah cupped the front of his jeans softly.  
“That’s ridiculous, my love,” he whispered against his earlobe. “I don’t wish to tease you at all.”

Part of that was the truth, especially with when he lowered his palm and rolled Peter’s heavy balls in between his fingers. Heaven help him, but Peter growled.  
“Shall we go to the bedroom, darling?” Elijah suggested out of mercy, all the while he continued to rub him in slow lazy circles as if the material of his pants didn’t exist.

There was a buzzing in Peter’s ears, a fogging of his mind. He was a man cast out to sea, left to find his way back to shore. Dear God, how much he wanted him!  
Pleasure was riding him hard, so intense it was nearly painful. His skin seared, aching for the coolness of Elijah’s touch, rougher respect to his own.  
As if Elijah could read his thoughts, he ripped off Peter’s shirt in one swoop, dragging his nails across Peter’s broad chest. His wolf eyes glowed yellow at the burn, bracketing his love’s face in two enormous hands.  
“Elijah…”

When Elijah flipped the switch, it was done. He forgot himself, threw aside decorum and any modicum of calm. He became another erotic and dangerous version of himself that he’d only shown to a select few, most of which he’d survived.  
Elijah fumbled with Peter’s belt, the werewolf’s bare breast a map of bloody rivulets. Taking great pleasure in the suppleness of his skin and the breaths that puffed out of his parted lips, Elijah’s curled fingers tugged furiously at the hem of Peter’s boxers.  
"I'll need to replace your clothing. Nothing is coming off today without me ripping."   
  
And then his phone rang. Elijah tried to ignore it. Their lips met again in a tangle of lust, spirits sailing... but the phone kept fucking ringing.  
Disheveled, lips swollen and covered in blood, Elijah managed a heavy greeting when he lifted it to his ear.  
“Kol? Is everything all right? Is it Davina? The baby?”  
  
A look of utter astonishment took over his features but a few seconds later, and then the furrowed brow of anger drew a curtain on Sexy Elijah. His arms dropped in strike to remove his stained shirt, fingertips unbuttoning, and he threw a woeful glance to Peter, who stood aroused and confused in the middle of his sitting room.  
“Yes, Kol. You keep him there, understand? Do whatever it takes. We’re coming.”  
  
When the call ended, Elijah addressed Peter, whose bright eyes were ashen once more.  
“What happened now?” He was raised in Beacon Hills. Drama was a side dish at breakfast.  
  
Clasping his hands a moment to Peter’s flushed cheeks, Elijah kissed him sweetly on his slick mouth. “I’m sorry, my love. I promise we’ll pick this up soon. Right now we have to get you a shirt and you must come with me.”  
“What happened?” Peter asked as he trailed Elijah to the bedroom, trying his best to keep up.  
  
Turning on his heel, a blaze different from the kind residing in Peter’s eyes took over Elijah’s. It was one of familial protection and honor. One that spoke only two words: _always and forever_.  
“Your nephew Derek is here. He wants to get Stiles back and stop the wedding. If we don’t do something, Peter, you do understand that Klaus will kill him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh now I love these two together. Oof!  
> A new chapter up this weekend, I promise! I won't make you wait. And yes Klaus and Marcel speaking is coming, too, if I can I'll unite the two chapters otherwise you'll get two updates in the next 3-4 days. Thank you as always for the love, and remember to take time for yourselves and take care. These times are insane. And be kind! It takes so little :) 
> 
> (Shameless plug: And I'm writing a pretty rad slow burn for Klaus and Stiles, it's called "Speak, Memory," and chapter 3 will be up tomorrow! Do check it out I'd be very pleased).


	11. Two Hookups- Two More Proposals- And An Unwanted Visitor - Part 3 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus meets with Marcel. Later that evening Stiles' fiancé gives him a present.

  
“Klaus... What’s up?” A vampire’s gait could be so light one would never hear him coming unless he wanted to be discovered. They put ninjas to shame.   
Klaus had left the door unlocked, texted Marcel to come, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise to see him crossing the threshold of his study.   
And yet it also was… because of all that had transpired. Marcel showed and that meant he was curious, or he cared. Maybe both? Either way, Klaus beamed, unable to stop the smile from curling his lips. He’d always had a soft spot for him, Marcellus had been his first special child and would forever be cherished, no matter what.   
  
Klaus looked good, Marcel thought as he took in the view. It had been a minute since he’d been back. More than anything his maker looked happy, which made Marcel's heart light as soon as he grinned at him.  
“Marcellus, welcome. I wanted… I needed to talk to you about something important.”  
  
Advancing, Marcel stopped when he was within touching distance. “I might have an idea what this is concerning, Klaus. But please… you tell me. What’s going on?”   
That’s when the scent hit Klaus’ nostrils. _Wolf.  
_ “Well well. Have we been expanding our horizons, Marcel? Is that a dog I smell on you?”   
  
Marcel’s adoring gaze dropped from Klaus’ eyes to his own shoes. He licked his lips and simpered. “You got me. I ran into Stiles’ best friend Scott on my way over. He and I made small-talk.” A smirk played the corners of his mouth.  
That fucking smirk, Klaus mused. He knew what it meant.   
“Judging by your dusky blush, Marcellus, I think you’ll be advancing species relations by a mile this evening. Just don’t rip the poor man apart, we need him whole _._ ”  
Chuckling, Marcel’s stomach bounded into his throat at the prospect of what the rest of the night still held for them. “I promise I’ll treat him with the utmost care. So what do you need to tell me, Klaus?”  
It was a poor attempt at deflection.  
Klaus cocked his head to one side. It was obvious that Stiles, the wedding, all the premise for this conversation were no mystery to him. No sense in beating around the bush.   
“We’ve had our differences, Marcellus. I acknowledge that and I don’t blame you for past events and sentiment. But you are my child,” he said more for himself. “I care for you no matter what our relationship is like. I always will. It is, after all, our family’s motto. And you’re family.”

Marcel’s hands were suddenly restless, seeking something to do to hide their trembling. He shook his head, waiting for his words to grow legs and spring forth.  
Klaus’ dark eyebrows knitted in the intermission. “I love you, Marcellus.”  
  
He’d never seen him like this. So pensive and emotional. What had this Stiles done to him?! Marcel’s fingers twitched. He was tempted to reach for him, touch him in some kind of comfort which he perhaps didn’t need at all.   
But he hesitated.   
Klaus drew a frustrated breath. This was taking longer than expected, and his anxiety was getting the better of him. “I wanted to do this in person, Marcel. Because I wanted to tell you, make you understand how much you mean to me. Stiles, whom I trust you’ve already heard of, is promised to me. We’re getting married Saturday and it would be my honor if you would be my best man.”  
  
“What?” A panicked expression flittered across his handsome face. Marcel would never have imagined. What about…?  
“What about Elijah? “ Oxygen fled his brain, making a mess of his reasoning. “I mean, you’re the closest with him and...”

Concern marred Klaus’ features. Did he think this was a joke or some ruse? “Elijah will be officiating. Kol I need for handling other matters. I would be honored if you’d stand by my side, child.”   
_  
Child._ He still felt the bond, Marcel realized. He didn’t hate me despite all I've done, he thought. Searching for articulation through a panicked fog, his breath nearly stalled. Were these unbidden tears flooding his eyes?!  
  
Klaus filled the pause. Perhaps he needed more reassuring. “I haven’t been the best father to you. Not at all. Truth be told, I don’t deserve a yes from you, so I understand if-“  
  
Marcel’s tongue darted from his mouth. Suddenly he was parched. How could he tell him that it wasn’t true… not anymore.   
Klaus had apologized, he’d tried to make amends. There was no reason to hold a grudge any longer.   
  
“I’ll do it," Marcel breathed, exhaling deeply. "I’d be honored. I’ll do it, _father._ “  
“You will?” Klaus blinked back tears of his own. His expression changed numerous times before he found the courage to ask. “May I, may I hug you, Marcel?”   
It came out almost pained and raspy, and Christ… Marcel’s blood… his body heat… it all pooled in his feet. He suddenly swayed, light-headed.   
“Of course. You don’t have to ask.“  
  
Klaus lunged as soon as his phrase finished floating in the air. He wrapped his arms around Marcel so tightly that neither knew if the tendril unraveling in their bellies and seizing their chests was because of relief, happiness, or hope. Perhaps it was a mix of all three. Klaus released him after an appropriate amount of time, blinking repeatedly. A burning spread from his stomach out to his extremities.  
“You’ve made me very happy, Marcel.“ He fixed the hem of his shirt, pulling on it nervously in an excuse to avoid his stare.  
  
“I hope to meet this Stiles soon," he replied. "The man able to lock down Klaus Mikaelson must be something else.”  
  
Klaus couldn’t contain his laugh then, studying Marcel’s content face with saucered blue eyes. They were vivid with hope for the future. “He is. And you shall. Tomorrow if that’s all right? Stiles is meeting with Scott then. I’d wager the manor that you and he will spend the night together, so please just both come to brunch?”  
  
Marcel bent his gaze and looked up at him from under thick lashes. He wanted to play it cool, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. The shakiness to his speech gave him away. “Can’t wait, Klaus. It’s a date.” 

_

The door opened with a firm push, the dark timber swinging with a force he hadn’t expected. This room he’d recently explored in their new home had been built for private moments, that much was clear. Everything in it spoke to muffled moans and rumpled sheets. Hushed secrets told behind arched palms that the wallpaper held forever in its confidence.  
“So how did it go with Marcel?”   
Stiles shut out the world with a click to the lock and turned to gaze upon the pair stretched out on the loveseat. What the devil?!  
“Well, don’t you two look cozy.”

“Hello, love,” Klaus grinned, holding a finger in front of the man’s glazed face. He lay with his back on the seat, the guest’s body prone beneath him.

“I was waiting for you,” Klaus commented, and when he moved his digit, the man’s delicate features shifted to follow it. He moved his hand in a side-to-side motion, watching every twitch of his face. “I’ve got you a little present.”  
  
“I see that,” replied Stiles, joining them at the settee. Klaus rubbed gently at the man’s thighs, gliding lightly over his groin, before inching back down. The intimate gesture of it all made Stiles’ cheeks flood scarlet. “I thought you were a gentleman of refinement, Klaus. And here you are playing with dinner.”

“Well,” he couldn’t help but grin, “It’s exciting to get this luxury once in a while; a hot meal. Leon here was very interested in assisting us.”  
“No compulsion?” Stiles could almost taste the blood. The artery pulsed there so beautifully and he couldn’t help but lick his thirsty lips- he’d been starving, craving the feed for weeks.   
  
Desire, hunger. In his fledgling state, he’d learned they could be interchangeable, but often they were sampled together. There was rarely a time after he’d fed that he and Klaus wouldn’t make love.   
“Come here, husband.” Klaus’ mouth covered his fully when he bent down, his fiery tongue slipping between his full lips. Strokes like velvet glided against him, the softness of his beard sending tingles across Stiles’ skin. He never failed to get a reaction from him. When their lips broke it was with a gasp and Stiles looked wrecked.   
“Not yet your husband…” he panted.   
“Soon enough,” Klaus breathed in a voice layered in want. Pulling him down, he kissed Stiles’ exposed neck. “Shall we have a little taste?”   
  
Stiles shivered at the prospect, and that’s what made his fangs break. He was still getting used to it, to be honest. It was such an instinctual reaction his body had. Any kind of potent emotion provoked it. The pressure in his belly would match that of his cock and whether it was wanting to drink or fuck or to punch someone- they came forth. The tip of his tongue stretched his jaw, the push of them against his lips a sweet relief.

“I truly think, my love,” there was nothing but pure adoration in his blue fire eyes, “there’s nothing more perfect than the sight of you like this.”

Stiles returned a coy look, a glint to his chestnut gaze able to rival Klaus’. He stole a glance to the youth, whose dreamy demeanor and cat-like writhing spoke to the promise that awaited them. A smiled stole over Klaus’ face and he laced his fingers with Stiles’. “Isn’t he lovely?”

“Gorgeous.” Stiles ran his hand across Leon’s alabaster cheek, the man’s body prickling over in ecstasy at the touch.   
“No compulsion?” Stiles asked again. He still had a conscience about these things. He’d never feed from someone who’d been glamoured.

“Rules are rules, my love,” Klaus stated, lifting the man’s wrist to his nose. “Just a little, which he asked for, because he said he was nervous. The rest, my dear, is free will.”  
  
Leon smelled clean, like clothes that had been washed with scented lavender water. Klaus took such a deep sniff, his ribs expanded. “Here.”   
Stiles breathed it in deep when Klaus offered. It wasn’t just soap or cologne. There was a hint of the man’s own scent that made Stiles whimper. The musky undertone to it: his sex.  
And there was the blood. Dear God the blood! The rush of it beneath his creamy flesh, a throb like Stiles had never known until he became a vampire.

“I want him.” The pangs of hunger and sexual lust that Stiles never wanted to admit had heightened with the change, they possessed him. Wrung him from the inside out. He bent down, and Klaus nodded in encouragement. “Go ahead love. You first.”   
Stiles placed his mouth gently, leaving the glistening mark of his lips, before his teeth sank. Klaus was aroused just watching Stiles like this, the sexiness and raw energy that exuded from him when he fed was intoxicating.   
They would feed, yes. Stiles and he would drain from Leon all they could, but leaving him with enough to not lose what made up the breathing chaos of life. And it would be thrilling for all.  
  
Stiles had asked Klaus once… if he’d ever killed in such a way, if he’d ever bridged that gap.  
“Yes,” he’d admitted, embracing him in the twilight. “When I was young, very young. … and also for necessity.”  
“I wonder what it’s like, to feel the heart stop beating and—”  
“No. No you don’t,” Klaus had spit.  
They never spoke of it again. 

It flooded him, the heat filling his belly. It was the sweetest tang of iron, something else that tasted rich and visceral. Something that made him entirely forget the unbearable draw he had felt earlier, that which kept him focused. Stiles felt lifted with each impassioned suck, enough to satisfy the hunger, the need.   
  
A moan escaped Leon’s lips, and in turn a groan roared from within Stiles—and he, having still so fresh the memory of it on his own human skin, sympathized with it. When Klaus had drunk from him, on the floor beneath the moon, he had been consumed by something like a blaze—an all-consuming sear claiming him, body and soul. He’d let himself be entirely engulfed by it. The man was here voluntarily, sure, but being fed on meant his body reacted to it. The sensuality of it which then bid the flesh to long for the feel of it, the dark gift.   
  
Stiles turned his murky gaze to Klaus, his face buried deep in the man’s neck, the dribble of scarlet running down the smooth throat—and Klaus was boring into him with his great sea eyes.   
Everything Klaus ever needed was right here, his expression spoke: Stiles. Complete and utter adoration.

Leon squirmed and bucked beneath their grazes, their mouths trapped in the sensuality of their feast. Neither dared touch him _that way_ , to gift him the physical release he was seeking.   
It wasn’t something they’d discussed yet, the possibility of allowing themselves to share also carnal pleasure with their mundane donors. Perhaps they would, though. Klaus wasn’t jealous in the slightest, but he also felt no compulsion for it after all this time.   
Stiles, on the other hand, was still a fledgling. With that came the burden of managing the undescribably intense feelings that came with their condition. He noticed the way Stiles caressed Leon’s torso and face and how hard it always made him to feed off humans. He clearly found touch an irresistible and essential part of the rite.   
  
So it was, Leon trembled and keened under their ministrations, and like pulling away from Klaus, Stiles struggled to break apart from their unholy kiss. Eventually he did, licking gently at the puncture wounds left behind. They’d heal, no harm done.   
He cast his eyes down and observed the young man with satisfaction, the prominent stiffness pushing against the fabric a safe assumption he, too, was enjoying himself.   
  
Leon gasped then, the fluttering of his lashes and the released tension of his body molding him with the loveseat.  
“Klaus…” Stiles whispered to him as Klaus continued to drink. “Baby…” 

Extracting himself slowly, Klaus sat up. He revealed stained fangs and the cerise tint on his lips was so inviting Stiles had to resist the urge to throw himself at him and lick it away. Klaus wiped at his chin with a cloth handkerchief, it glistening just like when he raised himself from between Stiles’ legs.   
The memories made Stiles whine. 

“I think…” Stiles smiled faintly, pointing to the expanding white stain on the front of Leon’s pants, “I think he’s finished, Klaus.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Stay tuned!   
> A part of the second section was inspired by another commission with sensual scholars.   
> My new story "Speak, Memory" will have a fifth chapter up tomorrow, do check it out if you like. It's a lovely romance story for our Stiles and Klaus with some mystery to it, including the addition of Josh and Kaleb into the plot.   
> And for Stiles lovers, keep an eye out if you also like Criminal Minds, I'll be posting a crossover story for Stiles and Spencer Reid tomorrow as well.   
> Take care, be kind, sending positive vibes!


	12. A Ruse, a Threat, a Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek realizes he may not be welcome in New Orleans.

No need to alarm the troops just yet, Kol thought. Taking the empty place next to him, the man slid onto the stool, dragging his eyes over the handsome vampire to his right. Cami shot Kol an amused look with a side of smirk. Placing a napkin down in front of the stranger, she asked her normal question. “What can I get ya?” It came out overly perky to compensate for her sudden nervousness.   
The man looked up and grinned, fingering the edge of the paper. His chartreuse eyes bore into her and for a moment he took her breath away (before she remembered what he was, that is).  
“Whiskey. Neat. And some information if you’re willing to help a guy out?”  
  
Kol nursed the melted ice in his glass, looking forward but obviously listening to every word.  
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Cami sung as she pushed the tumbler towards him. “What do you need to know?”  
Lifting the rim to his cerise lips, tipping the glass enough to dab some liquor onto his tongue, he replied, “Do you happen to know where the Mikaelson manor is?”  
  
Cami could have won an Oscar for disguising her shock. Kol tipped his dark head in the voice’s direction and inserted himself into the conversation. “Pretty old family. They’re well known in New Orleans.”   
Looking over, happy to be getting the guy’s attention, the patron’s face split into a dazzling smile. “Good to know. I’ve got some business there.”   
“Really?” Every neuron was firing inside him. NOW he was alarmed.  
  
Kol leaned over, extending a hand. “Name’s Kol. Yours?”  
“Derek. Nice to meet you,” he offered, shaking Kol’s firmly.  
“So Derek, humor a chap. What, if I may ask, is this business?”  
  
Straightening his shoulders, almost a foolish curl to his mouth, Derek confessed to the worst person he could have chosen. “Here to get my ex back. Maybe stop a wedding.”   
  
_

  
Kol could feel it. There was something sinister in the air. A darkness lived within Derek Hale and it was palpable. The things Stiles had told them had to be true.  
  
Davina arrived shortly after Derek’s declaration, taking the seat nearest Kol. She cleared her throat, wondering why the place smelled like wolf and exactly why Kol was ignoring her.  
Then she stiffened a moment later, the _evil_ prickling her skin drawing her right hand to clasp over her belly in a protective gesture. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good.  
  
Kol smirked, feigned amusement, but the fist that gripped the glass in his hand was so tight it was almost grey at the knuckles.  
“Stop a wedding you say? Well, that’s something.”  
He quickly shot Camille a glance. He knew every twitch to her features and she was just as concerned as he was. Then his gaze dropped to Davina, whose face was clouded by worry.   
  
Just once they'd have loved to live something in their family drama-free. 

Derek’s fingers tapped against the counter. “Yeah, I’m just visiting. I’m from California, actually. Like I said, I’m here to get my ex back. I'll do whatever it takes."

Kol flinched at the determination behind the statement. “Are you sure he wants you back, mate? How long has it been?” 

“Couple years,” Derek snorted. “He made a mistake leaving me. And I should have never let him go so easily. I’ll make him see that. He’ll see reason once I’ve had time to be alone with him.”

The fucking nerve, Kol thought. Not only that, the tone Derek was using sent a shiver down his spine. How exactly was he going to make Stiles _see reason_? What was he, a 1950s housewife who needed to be taught a lesson?!

“Well, good luck with that, mate,” Kol nodded, the bile rising up his throat. “If you’ll excuse me a sec, I have to make a phone call.”  
“Knock yourself out,” Derek pushed the empty glass towards Camille and asked for another, studying Kol's ass as he got up.   
  
The look burned into him. Kol wanted to pounce, and part of him was proud that he’d kept his fists (and his fangs) to himself as long as he had. Instead of making Derek bleed all over the bar floor, though, he leaned in closer to Davina, his lips brushing up against her ear. “Step outside with me a moment, darling.”  
  
When the red door closed behind them and they were safely on the street, he whispered to her.  
“What’s going on?” she leaned in, eyes wide in concern.  
“That’s Stiles’ ex,” he said through gritted teeth. “He’s here, trying to ruin the wedding.”

Davina's face went grim. “Does he even know Stiles is a vampire now?”  
Pulling his telephone from his pocket, Kol’s brow furrowed into deep wrinkles. “I don’t think so. And if Klaus finds out about this, he’s going to kill him.”  
“Call Elijah,” she murmured, feeling the baby stir. She didn’t like this situation one bit. That’s all they needed, a murder before the biggest royal wedding in New Orleans.  
“Exactly what I’m doing, love. Exactly what I'm doing.”  
  
_  
  
“Cami. Can I get a drink? And one for my friend over here,” he asked with a lifted finger. He didn’t really want one, nor did he wish to buy that asshole Derek another. However Kol did need to buy time _and_ get her attention.  
Cami returned the nod, walking one over to him. Derek still sat at the bar, eyeing Kol like he was a snack. “Thanks man!”  
“No problem.” Kol raised his glass in salute and smiled weakly, feeling sick to his stomach.  
  
As soon as she was close enough to hear him over the chatter, Kol told Camille what he really had on his mind.

“Nous ne pouvons pas le laisser gâcher ce marriage,” _We can’t let him ruin this wedding_ , Kol said in French. He was praying Derek didn’t speak it. He couldn’t very well whisper in English to Cami as werewolves heard just as well as vampires.  
“Je ne le laisserai pas faire ça. Nous devons l’arrêter. J’ai appelé Elijah. Il est en route ici. Si Elijah peut juste passer quelques minutes avec lui, il ne restera pas.” _I won’t let him do that. We have to stop it. I called Elijah. He’s on his way here. If Elijah can just spend a few minutes with him, there is no way he’ll stay._

“Comment allons-nous faire cela exactement?” _How are we going to do that exactly_?” Cami shrugged.

“We’ll just have to keep him here, keep him drinking,” Kol continued in French. “And if he gets bored with that, then… _we’ll need to give him another reason to stay._ ”  
  
There was a tiny grin growing on Cami’s face until she was beaming. She leaned across the bar counter. “Excuse me?”  
“Make out with him or something. It can’t be that hard to do. We’ll only have to string him along until Elijah shows up. He’s minutes away.”  
Davina chuckled at Cami’s expression, who poked Kol in the arm with her index finger.  
“Is there a reason you keep on saying _we_ , Kol? When he’s been staring at your pert ass for the past ten minutes? As charming as he played himself, I don’t think I’m his type, _darling_ …”

With a frown Kol looked to his left, taking in the sight of Derek Hale’s eyes lingering on his body. Derek wasn’t being subtle in the slightest.  
What a dirtbag, Kol thought. Good thing he was supposed to be here to get Stiles back!

Clearing his throat, Kol turned to look at Cami again. “Okay. I see your point. Not batting for your team.”

“Mhm," throwing the rag by her hand over her shoulder, she wagged her head. "And if he’s here to win back you know who, then I have a feeling you’re most definitely his type. He seems to have a thing for pretty faced boys with big, brown eyes and dark hair.”

Kol felt himself blush all the way to his toes as Cami reached over the bar and gave his back a playful slap. She was loving this. Truly. She wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“Sorry, buddy,” said Cami, carrying on with the French. “Looks like you’re the one he wants here. Not me. It’s time to take one for the team, sweetheart. But it shouldn’t be _that_ much of a punishment for you. He’s not exactly hard to look at.”  
“Davina, you cannot be okay with this?” he shot her a pleading pout.  
A soft chuckle was her answer, giving Kol’s shoulder a squeeze. “Aw, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ll let you have a little fun. And I promise I won’t get mad at you for cheating on me. It’s for a good cause.”

Kol rolled his eyes. “Really? So you're just going to pimp me out like this? Just to save my brother’s wedding?”

“It was your idea, sweety,” Cami snorted.

“Oh, come on, Kol,” Davina covered her mouth to contain the giggles. “You don’t want him to ruin the wedding. And it’s a new experience. You said you wanted to try new things, right?”  
"I didn't mean _that!_ "  
  
“She’s right,” Cami tried further to convince him. “It’ll be a mess. It’ll be dramatic. And our boys'll be heartbroken. Not to mention your brother will rip him to shreds. We don’t want to see another Red Wedding, do we? Game of Thrones will have _nothing_ on it if he ends up crashing it. Trust me.”  
“Shit.” Kol knew he had no choice. This was too important.  
“Fuck it." The rest of his drink disappeared. "Wish me luck,” he muttered, taking in the grins on the women’s faces.

With that, he slid off his stool and sauntered over to Derek, leaning up against the bar with a brief smile. He was so going to need a shower after this.  
“I couldn’t help but notice you staring at me,” Kol purred. Jesus, he felt gross already.

Derek smirked as he set his half empty glass on the table, tipping his head. “Mm. Couldn’t help myself. You’re the prettiest thing in this bar, no offense to the ladies present.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet, darling?” chuckled Kol. He was doing his best to sound coy when really all he wanted to do was slap Derek across his pretty face.  
But still. He had to keep up the act. “What about your ex? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Who said you’d be getting in the way? He doesn’t have to know if I have a little fun before tomorrow. I do have some _frustrations_ I need to let out. And he’s been sleeping with that dude for two years now, so who cares?”

Kol held back a scoff. Wow. “Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Derek inched closer, his voice dropping an octave. His lips were pressed up against Kol’s ear a second later, a finger running up and down his arm. “I don’t think I want to leave this bar without getting my hands on you for a little while. How about maybe you and I sneak off somewhere?”

The words were making Kol feel nauseous. His touch was revolting.  
Kol swallowed hard, giving Derek a nod. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Cami giving him a thumbs up and Davina winking at him. He was never going to live this down.  
“You… You really would do that… Even though you’re here for your ex?” returning his focus back to Derek, he found the man at a hair's breadth. 

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about him. Right now, I’ve got my eyes on you. Tomorrow is another day.”

Jesus! “Well, I’ve had an interest in you since you walked into this place. Not going to lie.” That much was the truth, Kol thought.

The sentiment made Derek grin, and a couple fingers hooked into Kol's. “How _sweet_. Well, why don’t we get to know each other a little better, huh? Is there someplace we can go?”

As badly as Kol just wanted to ball up his fist and pound it into Derek’s chin, he instead forced a sly smile. Interlacing all their fingers, Kol pulled the other man through the crowded bar, ignoring the not-so-subtle stares of Davina and Cami boring into his back.

“Where are we going?” Derek asked.

“Storage room. So you and I can have some privacy.” _I hate myself._

“You know, there’s a bar called Stonehenge back home. They, ugh… let people use the storage room _for the same purposes_.”

Kol resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he carried on, finally making it to the quieter, much more secure part of the bar. No one else was allowed back there except employees, they wouldn’t be disturbed until Elijah arrived. Which he prayed would be soon.  
  
Shoving open the door with his hip, Derek was on him as soon as it shut behind them.  
Derek was rough. Intense. Eager. For someone who wanted their ex back, Derek had no issue putting his hands all over Kol. Pulling him into a kiss, he shoved him backwards near some shelves.  
"This is perfect."  
Kol gasped as his back hit the wall, taken aback by just how desperate Derek seemed to be. Was he even thinking about Stiles?

Derek's tongue jabbed at the seam of Kol's mouth, who stiffened in his hold. “You suddenly not into this?” Derek pulled back, squinting at him.   
Fuck, Kol wasn’t being convincing enough.  
  
“No darling, no. Just nervous.” Kol delved deeper into misery. He let Derek's tongue in and fake-moaned into Derek’s mouth. God, he hated being mauled by this dog but thinking of the consequence if he didn’t...  
  
"Mmm," Derek keened, his palms gliding over his haunches. He was getting dangerously close to his dick.   
Curled digits landed in Derek’s thick locks as he gave them a tug.  
Where was Elijah?!  
  
The new enthusiastic contact seemed to spur Derek on, because he pressed Kol up against the wall even harder, his hands gripping and rolling into his hips.   
"You're so hot," his voice was edged. Derek grabbed into Kol’s ass, squeezing the cheeks roughly.  
"Yeah, you too," Kol panted, once again training his ear for footsteps.  
  
“You feel so fucking good in my hands,” Derek murmured, his voice coated in gravel. A breath laced with lust heated the air against Kol's neck. This was spiraling!  
“And that mouth. Bet you’d feel so good wrapped around my cock. Have you ever fucked a werewolf?”

Kol held back a shocked gasp at his filthy words. His eyes kept flitting over at the door, hoping and praying that Elijah would appear. There was only so long he could stay there, also because Derek was now pawing at his belt. Kol ran his hands across Derek’s hard chest before he traced them up and down Derek’s arms, doing his best to keep his fingers from undoing the buckle.  
The man was thick and his skin was smoldering. Kol hated how damn attractive Derek was. He didn’t _deserve_ to be that good looking.

A sharp grunt left Kol’s mouth when Derek grinded into him.  
Fuck. Derek was hard. _Throbbing_. Derek’s enormous cock prodded his thigh -there wasn’t an inch of space between them.  
  
“Hey...” Derek bucked, and Kol blushed wildly as he felt Derek’s cock twitch. "Wanna suck me off?"  
Shit shit shit! 

That was when the door mercifully banged open! Kol looked over at who’d made the noise, letting out a long sigh of relief at the sight: Elijah. 

“Fucking finally,” Kol muttered, pushing Derek off with his vampire strength and immediately wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“I’m sorry for the delay, brother.” Elijah bent his head, dark eyes snapping at Derek. “Mr. Derek Hale, I presume.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Derek muttered, staggering a step away from Kol. A look of suspicion washed over his face, his attention darting between Kol and Elijah.  
“What is this? Who the fuck are you?”

“Tsk tsk," Elijah advanced. "Such language. I suppose that is something to be expected from someone such as yourself. My name is Elijah Mikaelson. The gentleman you were manhandling is Kol Mikaelson, my sibling.”  
  
“What?!” Derek pulled back, hands shaking at his sides. “You’re _that_ family!”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Hale. _We are that family._ And this is your first and final warning,” Elijah explained with a calm that only he could make terrifying. He stepped into Derek's personal space, almost drifting there.   
“You will take your leave of this establishment. You will then get on a plane and go back to California. You will not have any contact with Stiles Stilinski or anyone else of our family. Failure to do so will result in me ripping your head off your body before you’re even able to blink. Understood?”

Confusion ripped through him. And then stark clarity. “This was all a fucking ploy to ambush me?” snapped Derek. “You think you can tell me what to do?”

“Yes,” Kol replied with a lazy shrug. “We’re deadly vampires. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” It was almost sad, he mused. Derek really didn't have a clue. 

“Let me share something with you, Mr. Hale,” growled Elijah, his patience wearing thin. “My family cannot be killed, so there’s no point trying to fight this. You either leave now with your head still attached to your torso or you wait and see what my family and I will do to you. I assure you it won’t be pretty _or painless_.”

Derek’s cheeks flushed suddenly, his breathing heavy. “Stiles would have nothing to do with fucking vampires. I need to see him, this is-”

Elijah was at his throat before Derek could even register the flit of the movement. A clawed hand closed tightly around it, Elijah watching himself in the reflection of Derek’s jade eyes.  
“Such a shame, such beauty wasted on such rubbish. Now-”  
Derek squirmed, attempted to shove past Elijah, but then the realization he would literally get crushed made his limbs go limp.  
“Another thing you don’t know, Mr. Hale, is that your ex is now one of us. Stiles is a vampire, and as such, is family. _Our family_. Wedding or not having taken place yet, he’s a Mikaelson.”  
  
Blinking, Derek’s mouth opened and closed but nothing was coming out. All his words felt trapped in his constricted chest.  
Elijah released his grip, adjusting his sleeves a second later as if nothing had happened.  
“You’re lying,” he spit, the fury making his eyes glow.   
“You don’t know me, Mr. Hale. But one thing I abhor is dishonesty. I am not lying, and you are beginning to try my patience."  
  
So it was true. Even if Derek got him back he was a vampire now! The look on Kol and Elijah's faces spoke volumes to the truth. Derek surrendered. Forgetting rather conveniently all about his plan to get his ex love back, Derek shook in place from rage. Looking first from one and then to the other, he balled up his fists and tensed his bearded jaw.  
"Screw this. You're all fucking crazy and I don't need this. Tell your vampire he can have him."   
  
Satisfied, Elijah made way and with a sweep of his arm, invited Derek out. He scurried from the storage room and all but spun through the emergency door at the back, scrambling to get as far away as possible. 

It was all Kol could do not to break into belly laughter. He allowed the relief to flood him instead and let out another long, loud sigh. He slumped against the wall, his eyes shutting, so thankful that Elijah had turned up when he did. There was no way he could have carried on with what Derek had planned for them next. 

“Good job keeping him here until I could arrive,” Elijah said. “You had a very, uh, innovative way of keeping him around.”

Kol snorted, his face buried in his hands as he shook his head. “It took you long enough to show up. I was almost pubes deep on the guy.”

“How delightful," Elijah snickered, checking the time on his watch. “And you're welcome. Now if that’s all for this evening’s entertainment, I’d like to get back to my original plans.”

“Let’s hope that’s the end of it,” Kol fixed his hair, finally opening his eyes with a chortle. “And how is Peter?”  
  
Turning on his heel, Elijah smiled widely. “He’s doing very well, thank you for asking.” Patting him on the back as they walked out together, Kol leaned into Elijah's shoulder, squeezing gently over his bicep.  
“What a night, brother. What a night.”  
_  
  
Shaken, Derek’s senses were completely off as he stumbled down the alley. That’s why he didn’t notice Peter until he got slammed into the bricks, cheek first.  
“What exactly do you think you’re doing, _nephew_? Are you trying to get yourself fucking killed by a bunch of vampires?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you are all doing okay.


	13. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah and Peter finally have their intimate moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my absence- life and some personal stuff got a bit heavy. I hope the next chapters make it up for it.

Elijah insisted on making it up to Peter. He’d always been a man of his word and it was shameful that the symphony they had begun in his sitting room hung in the air half-composed (much like the scent of their arousal which still clung to them, their bodies waiting for blessed release).  
Such delivery would only happen the evening following the fiasco at Rousseau’s, however.  
  
Alas, the evening in question Peter Hale was yet again called to be his nephew’s keeper. After roughing him up enough to show him he (and the Mikaelsons!) meant business, he personally put Derek on a plane back to California.  
“If I even glimpse those green eyes peeking out from behind some bush, I will rip your throat out myself, blood relative or not,” he warned.  
Slamming his fist into the rental’s dashboard, Derek spit back his fury. “They can have him. He made his choice. What the fuck would I do with a vampire, anyway?”  
 _  
A lot._ Peter smiled faintly to himself in amusement while Derek’s cold eyes sniped at him. _You don’t even know what it means to fuck a vampire._

Peter instead kept his words behind his gritted teeth. He was sexually frustrated and fuming- not only did Derek embarrass the Hale family, he hit on Kol despite claiming he wanted Stiles back. How did that look?! What was wrong with him?!  
“You need to check yourself, Derek. Go home and get laid and forget about what’s about to happen here.”  
  
They were eyeing each other like two bantam cocks the entire way to the airport- Derek mumbling something under his breath about insane fucking vampires and Peter threatening him so loudly the windows shook.  
But seemingly he’d made his point. Shoulders slumped, his carry-on thrown over his broad shoulder, a despondent Derek Hale disappeared into the belly of the airplane, hopefully never to be seen in New Orleans again.  
_  
  
Now it was their time. His and Elijah's.  
  
The manor held all the decorum of a place ready to hold a baroque masquerade. The masonry seemed straight from the plans of a renaissance architect, and the rich fabrics that draped from the ceilings and across the floor portrayed the etiquette of only a certain class of man worthy of living there.  
Precisely the man Elijah Mikaelson was.

Elijah upheld the propriety of that image with poise, and it was part of the reason Peter had become so enthralled by him all those years ago.  
He was enchantment personified.  
  
On this particular evening, after a night of restaurant-going and expensive wine, he and Peter had found their way back to the manor, and the man felt a pang of endearment deep down in his soul- that his host and lover was willing to allow him that much further into his life.  
He ran his fingers through his hair, spinning in place and wondering at the majestic grandeur of the adjoining bedroom, _the actual place Elijah slept._ Because he had another that just now Peter realized he used “for show.” _Those_ quarters were austere- aseptic. Perhaps on the surface a reflection of Elijah’s controlled intensity- but an erroneous one.  
  
This? This was Elijah’s true _boudoir_ if you will. Full of the trappings that it would take a millennia to collect. Peter was like a child in a candy store, glancing around at the many little fragments of Elijah’s personality that neatly populated the floors and walls.

A music stand occupied one corner, a large violin case propped up hastily near it, and the entire scene was surrounded by an audience of strewn sheet music. The vibrations buzzed in the air… the colours of the notes just waiting for the next time Elijah would lovingly work them to life in a surreal but enticing manner.  
  
Hmm, Peter thought. This part was most captivating. A canopy bed with silks that matched the walls held the space in the opposite corner, and between them, an enormous set of doors opened out onto a wide balcony that welcomed the stars like a stage.  
It was much like the set-up that Klaus had in the mansion, only it was more… elegant. More… Elijah.

Peter had loosened his tie when he’d been led to the chambers and it hung around his neck, with several buttons on his dress shirt undone. No trace of the previous night’s scratches remained.  
  
Elijah’s fingers brushed his collarbone, lingering there too long to be an accident. The tips fanning wide apart, he circled over Peter’s breast. “Finally, my love.”   
The sensuous touch made Peter gasp.  
“Yes, finally,” his bluebell eyes sparkled in response.  
  
Elijah meanwhile had kept his clothes in perfect order—a state he described when questioned as being all part of his ‘savoir faire’. How Peter wished to see him out of them. He ached for him.  
“It’s all magnificent.”  
Watching his partner stare in glee at the splendour of his home, Elijah smiled inwardly with a level of maturity befitting his timeless wisdom.

“You seem rather captivated, Peter.” The wolf spun around to look at him, his gaze alive.  
“It’s just…” he began, scratching at the back of his head, “this is quite a place to live. Beats my condo in California.”

Elijah stepped further into him, his polished shoes clacking on the marble. “A man’s space must be suitable for him to indulge in his hobbies. If I were to neglect those aspects of my character, what would that make me?”

“Boring, probably.” As if Elijah would ever come off as boring, Peter thought seconds later.

“Quite right. And nobody wants that.”  
  
Peter laughed before returning to enjoying the grandness. Elijah quirked his head, leant down to a record player sitting on the top of an oak cabinet. There was a crackle as the needle circled along the vinyl, and soon the speaker sang the tunes of classical music.  
He was sure he’d heard it before, but couldn’t quite catch the name as it sat on his tongue.  
  
Elijah forgot himself for the desire ripping through him. He stepped up to Peter, stopping only a foot or so away from him and offering a gentle hand as he bowed.  
“Would you grace me with a dance, my love?”  
Peter knew the implication, taking the vampire’s invitation with a sigh.

This wasn’t their first dance. Within only a few days of their romance, he had learned that Elijah always took the lead (literally and figuratively). Peter had heard growing up that it was the “man’s” duty to put his best foot forwards in a dance, but never did he feel the desire with his Elijah to be ahead of him.  
He loved to be led by him… he loved to be _fucked_ by him, and his partner did both so perfectly that he could never have complained even if he wanted to.

The two men swayed, pirouetting in time with the adagio. His muscular shoulders stretched the fabric of his clothing with every movement. They glided across the floor like spirits come back to life. It was a true tango of desire.  
  
“You’re beautiful, baby,” Peter managed through a breath heavy in want.  
The vampire shivered in pleasure. “You more.”  
  
Elijah was firm with his hold, but gentle enough to be reassuring, one hand on Peter’s hip and the other laced with his digits. The space in the centre of the room became their stage and the grandiose manor suddenly felt very fitting.  
All it took was a simple dance.

"Where did you learn?" Peter asked, smiling innocently, reveling at the moment.

"Never one place. A culmination of experience. I’ve had a long time to practice."

“Indeed,” Peter sighed, looking at him from under a hooded gaze.  
  
With locked looks and sliding with the tempo of the music, Elijah directed their duet towards the open balcony. He saw how Peter only had eyes for him, never once considering the danger as he sauntered backwards on his partner’s command until he nearly hit the balustrade.  
Once the rich air of the manor became replaced with the crisp, yet humid scent of the New Orleans night, Peter stopped, letting his hand fall from Elijah’s in their stance and wander gently to his cheek.

“Elijah.”  
The hint of barely perceptible stubble met his fingers as he teased down his jawbones, stepping up till only a mere inch or so separated their foreheads. Illuminated in the silver lunar night, Elijah kept his position of control, initiating a tender kiss between them. Peter always seized up briefly when they connected their lips—and he did again—but soon, under the gentle affirmation of his questing kiss, he relaxed.  
He whimpered as Elijah drove his tongue in deeper.  
  
“I… I need you.”  
While Peter had slipped into exactly the place Elijah had been directing him to, Elijah took his opportunity to open his dress shirt further and let it fall down his shoulder, turning the man around so he faced outward into the city.

The tensing in his muscles returned, that anxiety that came from new experiences.

‘Someone might…see,’ said Peter, in a voice conflicted between protesting and giving in. This wasn’t like Elijah. _Or was it?!_  
His lover continued to unravel his clothes until they hung loosely from his middle.

‘You forget how dark midnight can be, darling. No one will see. They are far off in the streets and my wall is closed off. It’s just us.’

Elijah’s smooth voice in his ear and the reassuring hands along his sides seemed to silence any objection in his mind, and the vampire took it as permission to continue.  
The tightness coiled in both their bodies.  
“All right.” Peter came apart. He’d do anything for him.   
  
Soon, his smart outfit for the night had been all but shed, surrounding him at his feet in a pool of expensive fabric.  
For once, Peter cared little if his attire wrinkled.  
Kisses freckled along his neck, Elijah’s fingers gliding along the pits and falls of Peter’s perfect abs. They twitched under the graze and his breath hiked from Elijah’s attentions, but that only spurred his lover along.

“Give yourself over to me,” Elijah ordered. “Let go.”  
With light touches, his fingers went lower and coiled around Peter’s hardening cock, ghosting along the sensitive skin as he worked his length.  
“Oh fuck,” Peter let his head fall back against Elijah’s, growling his name.  
  
He felt the man’s blood flow increase at his fingertips, a sensation that always sent a warmth into his core and a tingle to the tips of his canines.  
“I desire you, Peter,” Elijah whispered sweetly.

Droplets of sweat had formed on the wolf’s skin, sliding down the exposed trail of his long neck. Elijah pumped at his cock with more fervour than before, bringing him to full readiness, while the same swelled for himself.

Elijah seemed to lose a measure of his carefully disciplined patience, kicking aside his own clothes with swift vampiric movements. This was not a moment to waste time. The bleeding tip rested in the dip of Peter’s muscular back and with one hand, he guided himself down until he found the opening.  
“Move with me.”  
It took some acceptance on Peter’s part, adjusting their position so that most of his weight was supported by Elijah’s more supernatural strength. But once they were one, their moment of passion was joined by the steady rolling of Elijah’s hips, thrusting into him and hearing him whimper in feverous excitement.  
“Bite me,” Peter offered his artery with a lift of his bearded chin. “For the love of God, Elijah, please bite me.”

Regardless of the fact that Peter was clearly drunk on lust and eager for _everything_ from his partner, Elijah remained controlled. His experience had taught many things over a millennium of life, and his sedate manner of making love was a sure part of that.  
“Patience, pet,” he lulled him with his voice, the tips of his fangs ghosting over the pulsing point.  
Gentle thrusts of his body had him continue a steady pace, it was almost dreamlike… keeping in time with the slow hum of the music that drifted onto the balcony from Elijah’s chambers.  
  
“When?” Peter asked, almost begging. "When will you make me come?"   
  
" _NOW_ _.”_  
He gasped when Elijah moaned against him, the wolf’s sky eyes rolling into the back of his head as he felt the pang of tooth followed by the spill of his salty seed at his feet. Climax surged through Elijah as well, hot spasms wrung from his sex by Peter’s delicious warmth.  
  
There were many memories in the mind of an ancient vampire and never much room for new ones. At that moment, however, Elijah committed this to memory. This evening, his lover surrendering to him in wanton desire under the light of a silver wolf moon, was not one to forget.  
  
Would it be so wrong to want this with his Peter _for all time?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be updating quite a few stories over the next week. It just hasn't been easy- I learned my friend passed away and it was very difficult to reconcile writing fan fiction as all that unraveled.  
> Things seem a little more stable now both in my head and my heart so hopefully I'll be able to wrap up some of these stories in a satisfying way. The wedding chapter for this one is quite long- I'm in the editing phase but it's ready and I'm quite excited about it.  
> Enjoy and as always I can't believe the support you've been giving this little tale so I thank you for that- it means a lot. Your enthusiasm is what kept me writing and creating new things for these boys.


	14. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcel and Scott find a moment for a little romance during the rehearsal dinner.

Sometimes it was fun to pretend. Pretend this wasn’t a rehearsal dinner. Pretend that he and Marcel didn’t already know one another and had been intimate. (Honestly, Scott had lost count of how many times in the past week. Except for their duties as best men, he and his vampire host had spent most of their free time navigating between Marcel’s bed and his enormous shower, the front door for Uber Eats and then back to the bedroom).  
The grooms had chosen yet another gorgeous mansion for the venue of their rehearsal dinner, which had to boast the most influential of New Orleans’ finest residents, both supernatural and not.  
Scott’s head was swimming after about the hundredth hand he shook. It was now getting towards what he assumed would be the dancing. His feet hurt just from all the standing, his brain was numb from being introduced to people he’d never see again, and now there was an odd ringing in his ears that didn’t used to be there. Was there enough oxygen in this place?!

Marcel spotted him looking distraught from across the room, and excusing himself, found his date at the champagne table, picking up a flute and lifting it to his lips to put a little more liquid energy into his veins. That’s when he had the idea.  
“Hello there,” Scott turned at the captivating voice behind him.  
“Hey-“ he was about to utter from behind a veil of familiarity, but Marcel winked and reached out to greet him. “I’m Marcel. _And you are_?”  
Ah… Scott’s lips stretched into a smile of understanding. “Scott McCall. Stiles’ best man.”

“Well, Scott McCall, you’ve certainly caught my attention and I thought I might regret it if I didn’t come over and say hello,” Marcel reached past Scott’s slim hip and took a champagne glass for himself. The gesture combined with the spicy scent of Marcel’s cologne made Scott’s breath catch in his throat. “I’m Klaus’ best man. His sired son, actually. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”  
Marcel lifted the glass to his full lips and took a drink while looking at his lover over the rim. Scott felt his face flush at the compliment, scrambling for something equally alluring to say. Before he could string even three words together, though, Marcel continued.

“You see, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly stunning you look. In a room full of beautiful people, you stand out. I couldn’t rip my eyes away,” he flashed him his charming smile and something made Scott shiver.

Flashes of their last time together, just hours earlier, sent blood to his cock. How on earth did he manage to attract the attention of such a charming and handsome stranger, it seemed almost fated now if he thought back to the moment they’d literally bumped into each other.

“I came here alone tonight,” Marcel lied, “I hope you won’t take offense by me saying, but from the looks of things you either did as well or you’ve brought a lousy date,” his grin broadened again, his dimples making him incredibly endearing. 

“I did come alone,” Scott confirmed, this little game they were playing amusing him to no end. He was definitely dazzled by Marcel’s cloudy eyes as he kept them locked on him. 

“How fortunate for me,” Marcel leaned in just a little more, enough to shift the energy behind the words. “Perhaps you’d be willing to entertain a notion that I had? At least hear it?” he queried an eyebrow, raising his drink to his lips again.   
Unconsciously, Scott followed suit.

“I’ll listen to it at the very least,” the man replied, checking his pulse, which had begun to race.  
“What if, just for tonight, we pretend that it was meant to be?”  
Scott looked at him curiously. He already believed that it was meant to be, he just hadn’t broached the subject with his vampire date. But whatever Marcel had in mind was a welcome distraction. “What do you mean?” Scott asked.  
  
“We can tell each other anything, fulfil any grand ideas of romance, let tonight be a flurry of romantic gestures and unforgettable memories. Of course we’d both have to be respectful, no touching or advances unless getting explicit permission beforehand. But we could make it a perfect night, for both of us, something wild and crazy to remember forever. We already have the perfect setting,” he gestured around them with a pointed finger. “And you’ve already worn the most alluring suit, you look stunning, Scott. There’s music, there’s drink, why let it all go to waste?”

Scott felt a smile swallow up his face, getting lost in his own daydream. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. There were a lot of fantasies they could fulfil between now and midnight.  
“One perfect night,” he whispered.  
“One perfect night,” Marcel nodded. Perhaps the first of many yet to come, though he kept the hopeful thought to himself… for now.

“Then let’s go,” suggested the young vet.  
Marcel’s gleaming white teeth broke through even wider, understanding the go signal at once. 

“Marvelous,” he took his lover’s hand and kissed it gently. “I think that we should start with something irrefutably romantic,” he said and kept Scott’s hand gently in his grasp, delicately, as if he were holding an empty glove.

“And what’s that?” Scott enquired, bursting at the seams to know what he had in store for them. 

“Why…a slow dance,” Marcel led him towards the large ballroom where many people were already dancing.   
_  
Hm_ , he frowned as they crossed the threshold. “This wasn’t the kind of music I was hoping for,” Marcel raised an eyebrow in disapproval at the many drunk attendees grinding and gyrating in front of them. “Wait here for a spell, darling, I won’t be long.” 

He disappeared from Scott’s side and moved along the wall of the large and elegantly decorated room. The theme of the rehearsal dinner (Klaus had insisted it have a theme, of course!) was Midnight Cosmos, so there were twinkle lights and elegantly draped midnight blue curtains and fabrics decorating the entire place.

The song that had been playing ended and the first few notes of _Perfect_ by Ed Sheeran started playing over the speakers.

“I think this is a much better option,” Marcel appeared as if by magic right by Scott, and he turned to find his hand outstretched in invitation. “Would you like to dance, gorgeous?”

Scott felt his jaw attempt to embarrass him by falling open, but he tightened it and nodded, placing his fingers gently in his before they laced, thrilled that Marcel had had this lovely idea.  
They walked among the other dancers and then Scott stepped into his vampire’s arms, no less muscled and sturdy than his own. Marcel took place, one hand on Scott’s waist and the other on the small of his back, rubbing it up and down gently.

“Does this bother you?” he whispered into his ear, following the rules of the game he himself had set forth.

“No, it feels nice, it’s comforting,” Scott grinned. His own arms found themselves traveling to wrap around his neck.  
“Would it be alright if I ran my fingers through your hair?” Scott whispered.  
“As long as you still think it looks charming afterwards,” Marcel replied through gritty voice.  
Scott laughed a little and bent, pulling his fingers at the back of his neck. He noticed Marcel fight the urge to shiver, and it made him bite his lip softly. 

They swayed together to the soft melodies and beautiful lyrics. Marcel twirled him around the other dance partners twice, catching him and dipping him low. He held Scott’s dark eyes as he felt their breaths so close the molecules in the air collided. He brought him back up slowly, holding him in his embrace as the song finished.  
It was magical.

When the song changed, morphing into a new combination of sound and beats, it was fast again. 

“I think that’s one thing we can cross off the list,” Marcel kissed the tops of Scott’s knuckles.  
“I would agree.”   
Marcel couldn’t help himself, he brushed the stray strands of hair out of Scott’s face and the other followed him back towards the exit of the building. 

“Would you like to pick something for us now?” he kept ahold of his hand.  
“I have to admit I have seen little of the party myself, I’m not even sure what the options are.” Scott hadn’t ventured much into the mansion, having spent most of his time in the main dining room.  
“If you haven’t seen the party that’s a sin, I’ll take you to some of the more extravagant areas, it’s like they’re straight out of a fairytale. Klaus never disappoints.” Marcel tugged at his sleeve, guiding him in a direction yet unexplored. They made their way deeper into the large mansion. 

“I have a secret for you,” Marcel whispered, standing right up against Scott as they headed towards a pair of double doors.  
“A secret?” Scott lowered his voice to match his, a grin splitting his face in half.  
“Yes, the woman who originally started making the Enchantress’ Gala here in New Orleans was a daydreamer, she used to get high on all kinds of substances to fuel her imagination, dying to get just one more taste of adventure. As she grew older, though, she met a man who fell madly in love with her. She didn’t care for him much herself, but he pursued her, promising to fulfill even her wildest dreams if she would just marry him,” he stopped in front of a set of double doors far deeper into the party than Scott had dared to travel on his own.

“What did she say?” he breathed.

“She said yes,” Marcel pushed the doors open. Light flooded over them in an instant, muted and in low purples and blues. The room they were standing in had long silks hanging from the ceiling and sensual music playing. A woman was spinning through them, dancing in the air to a tune that was infecting everyone’s mind. 

This time Scott’s mouth dropped open as he stared. She was an expert, jumping between silks and letting herself fall towards the floor as the music dropped, catching herself just before she collided with it, and then using her legs to pull her slowly back up towards the ceiling. 

“I had no idea this was even back here,” he whispered, his breath stolen right from his lungs.  
“Indeed it is,” Marcel was beside himself, his hands on Scott’s shoulders, hovering just barely on the skin. “It’s in an area a lot of invitees don’t yet feel brave enough to enter. But I’m glad you didn’t know, because that means that I could show you.” 

“I guess this really will be an unforgettable night,” Scott turned in place to study him, his beauty provoking awe. They nearly collided their lips together. Scott hesitated in that space, his breath caught in his throat. Part of him wanted to lean forward and close the distance, but then remembering what Marcel had said, no touching without explicit permission, Scott stopped himself.  
He looked away.   
“Are there more rooms?”  
“Dozens,” his vampire lover replied. “I still haven’t seen all of them, either.”  
“Can we go and find more?” Scott asked. The excitement was so ripe in him it gave him a childish glow.  
“Of course, I’ll take you to the hallway and you pick a door,” he encouraged Scott, squeezing his arm.

Scott smiled back and laughed joyfully at the prospect. He was right, there were so many doors to choose from!   
The guest list was huge while still being maddeningly exclusive. Klaus wouldn’t allow just anyone to attend his wedding.

“Any door?” Scott asked, as he walked down the hall in front of him.

“Any one of these,” Marcel confirmed. Scott giggled and took off running, his leather heels clicking on expensive wood. Marcel couldn’t see the look of pure joy on his face as he was trailing him, but he could imagine it.  
Scott stopped in front of a blood red door. “This one,” he said. Firmly gripping the handle, the door yawned open. 

What was revealed was like his very own white rabbit taking him around wonderland.  
“You’ve found a good one,” Marcel winked. 

Before him stood another set of glass doors, and beyond those, deeper inside, tall wild grass and a thousand busy fireflies shining through.  
“This is so beautiful,” Scott whispered. They spent some time examining the room, sitting on the grass and letting the lights dance around them, laughing and talking like two teens. It was magnificent. 

They went to several other rooms afterwards, discovering only the most amazing surprises behind each one. Eventually they made their way to the roof of the mansion. 

“I think this is really the only way to end the night,” Marcel professed, his warm hand on the small of Scott’s back once more, gently guiding him towards the edge of the roof’s balcony.  
Scott sighed in contentment, the now late night air chilling him and carrying that mysterious and enchanting atmosphere that only midnight brings with it. Scott set his hands on the rod iron railing and looked down. It was overlooking the city, the lights blinking beneath them in beauty. 

“You know,” Scott whispered, “ everything inside has been so wonderful, but it almost feels too good to be true. Like I’ll wake up tomorrow with a small mushroom in my hand and wonder if any of it was real at all. But this,” he lent his attention to his lover and leaned his head onto Marcel’s shoulder. “This feels real, and I’m so glad."  
“The extravagance of everything inside too much for you?”

Scott thought for a moment before wagging his head. “That’s not quite it, it’s more like it didn’t feel real in there, it felt like a dream and I really didn’t want you to be a dream, Marcel. I don’t want all of my memories of you to feel like a dream. Because... I... I didn’t need all the extra things to enjoy this time together,” he was blushing furiously.  
The night’s breeze carried his hair away from his shoulders and his face as Marcel gazed upon him in adoration.  
“I don’t want you to be a dream either,” Marcel smiled. “May I kiss you, Scott?” he reached his hands towards his face and the other man nodded in consent. 

Marcel cupped Scott’s face gently in between both of his hands, his thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. He leaned his face down, slick lips hovering just a few centimeters away from Scott’s, but he didn’t kiss him, he stayed there, waiting patiently. Scott inched forward, bent his head, and kissed him first on impulse.  
They felt the sparks instantly when they did, like the first time. Marcel’s breath hitched and Scott leaned even more into his lips, increasing the pressure and testing the seam of his mouth by dabbing at it with his tongue.   
The kiss grew harder and hotter almost immediately as the men found their familiarity, they broke apart only to find their way right back.   
It was the most incredible feeling all over again. 

When they finally cleaved Scott’s heart was pounding in his chest and his eyes would only open a fraction, just enough to see if Marcel was still there… if he would participate in this with him one more time.  
“City lights, a beautiful man, and a heart stopping kiss. It seems the best way to end the night, doesn’t it?” he asked, a sad smile on his face as he brushed Scott’s locks back gently.   
“No,” Scott mumbled, the disappointment clear on his face. “I… don’t want it to end.”  
“I know love, I hardly want to say goodbye myself. But alas, it’s late, and house rules say the magic ends a little after midnight. Just like Cinderella and her pumpkin-“  
“That’s a terrible rule,” Scott lamented, his stomach churning in despair.

“I’ve never minded it too much before,” Marcel said. “But I’m inclined to agree with you this time.”   
He wrapped his powerful arms around his lover and laid his cheek on his head, holding him close.  
Scott could hear his own heart pounding and felt a zap of excitement at the idea that the evening had affected him as much as it had affected Marcel.   
  
The game had gone on long enough. “Marcel,” Scott took his hand from where he was standing. He looked at him, hope bright on his face and love burning a flame in his eyes. “I was thinking,” he said, his tone manic as he tried to get everything out all at once before he lost his nerve.  
“Yes?”  
“Well, you said that you just wanted one perfect night but honestly maybe that’s a bit narrow minded,” Scott said.  
“Really?”

Scott cut him off, desperate to be the first to convince him before he himself backed down from intent. “Yes. Game over. I’m speaking seriously now about this past week.”  
If Marcel’s heart could beat, it would be a war drum, the idea of what Scott was about to say overwhelming him. “You don’t want this to end with the wedding, do you?” he repeated back to Scott his own thought which had been a torment in his mind.  
“Mhmm,” Scott nodded, his cheeks dusking telling too much of his embarrassment… and excitement. A smile spread over his face. “I don’t have much left on the doctorate. You live in New York City… I could use a change of scenery. Would you be opposed to trying to make this work? Honestly, this being over tomorrow has been haunting me since yesterday. I… I would like to see where this goes, Marcel.”  
The man before him hid emotion well, normally. But this wasn’t one of those occasions to play with someone’s sentiment. Marcel lit up. “I was thinking the exact same thing, Scott. Just looking for the right moment to bring it up.” 

A wave of relief moved Scott’s shoulders to relax and his features to soften. “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, Marcel. Look at all this… even an idea like this… you’re just… _special_. I don’t want to lose that, you know what I mean? The idea of what we could be is too strong.”  
“I do,” Marcel agreed. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s how I feel about you as well, Scott.”  
Scott beamed. “This was a wonderful idea you had, Marcel. Your imagination and the wonder you create around yourself-“  
“Really?” Marcel didn’t mean to interrupt him, but found himself enveloped in his aura again. “I was actually a bit worried you might think I was being silly.”

“It wasn’t silly,” Scott reassured him with wrinkled eyes from his glowing smile. “It was perfect. The most interesting rehearsal dinner I’ve certainly ever attended. I don’t think that silliness and whimsey are inherently bad things, either. I wouldn’t have it any other way, truly.”   
It warmed his heart to hear Scott talk so positively about it. Marcel reached over and claimed his hand. 

“Are you sure you want to move to NYC with me?” he asked from under shadowed fringe of long lashes. “Your entire life is there.”

“Oh, of course,” Scott didn’t hesitate a moment in his reply. “I’m kinda done with California, Marcel.”  
He had felt soured on California for a while now. Scott was just waiting to finish his doctorate, and then his intention was to move along. Now he had a good reason… a _wonderful_ reason to… and with Stiles here in NOLA and Marcel having a beautiful home right in the city, they could visit as often as they’d like.

“Excellent. We can talk about details later, Scott. Right now… right now I want to go home and pick up where we left off this morning.”   
Scott felt his cheeks heat up yet again. He remembered all too well what he meant. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” 

He felt his heart skip a beat and fought the urge to giggle like a schoolboy.   
“I can’t wait to taste you again,” Scott bit his lip right after he dropped his wish. He heard a soft sigh, maybe something one might describe as a moan, leave Marcel’s lips. 

“Is that so?” he glanced over at him, not taking his eyes off for anything in the world. “Then I’ll fly us home. Every had a vampire do that?”  
“You’re the first vampire I’ve ever met. So no.”   
“Darling,” Marcel leaned over so he was whispering directly into Scott’s ear. “You’re in for quite the ride. But don’t think it feels like anything you would have seen in _Twilight._ “

Scott was in his arms so swiftly he couldn’t recall the moment. Marcel’s arms were strong and his grip on Scott was firm but comforting. Scott had his arms thrown around his neck instinctively… Marcel kissed his forehead and his werewolf smiled, his soul truly content.  
Both were throbbing between their legs, and it was the sweetest reason in the world to be carried back to Marcel’s mansion in this manner.   
“Let’s go, baby. Hold on tight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Life has been unkind of late- I don't like to rush or half-ass anything and so... slowly but surely all the wips are going to get updates. Thanks for bearing with me and for understanding.

**Author's Note:**

> A few people suggested it'd be fun to drop in on Stonehenge, and since I had a huge fan request for a Klaus/Stiles I was more than happy to oblige. This pairing is now very close to my heart so thank you for suggesting it. :)  
> 


End file.
